Getting to Know You
by NotAContrivance
Summary: Bridget is getting a little too used to life as Siobhan. The more she knows, the closer she gets. Bridget/Andrew, others.
1. The Man in the Picture

So I actually wanted to wait before posting this, especially for the show to tell us a little bit more about Bridget and Siobhan and why they fell out and whatnot, but I'm going a little crazy, and I made myself a promise that I would post this if no one else had posted for a while, even though it's nowhere near done or quite as chronological as I'd like it to be. Anyway, this fic is basically a novelization of the episodes from Bridget's point of view, but obviously I'll be putting some more information in there and adding some moments of my own, though I want to keep it as true to the show as possible. Also, this story is subject to changes, when and if the show decides to tell us more about any of the characters.

This first chapter occurs before the pilot, and it's substantially shorter than the other chapters, so I'm sorry to leave you with so little. Consider it a taste of things to come? Anyway, the next two or three chapters happen during the pilot. I've written the next chapter already and will probably post it sometime within the week if I've got enough time, but after that, I've got, well, random bits from other episodes and part of a chapter three, so we'll see if I can pull it together to give you a timely update. And, obviously, the primary focus of this is the Bridget/Andrew relationship, though Siobhan and, I assume, Juliet and some of the others will probably feature in, and I'll probably make mention of other big events. Unless I can avoid it. Lol. I really want to avoid Henry, but the comedic potential of him coming onto Bridget might just be too hard to resist.

And, mind you, this comes from me literally scrutinizing every second of the scene from tone to microexpressions to the background crap, every single minute detail, you name it, every little maddening bit, stopping and starting and stopping and starting. Also, I apologize in advance for any lines that might have our Bridget shooting up instead of snorting, but the line was a lot more poetic/interesting than one about crushing and snorting would've been.

Anyway, the scenes I choose to do will probably be somewhat random (as in I'm probably not gonna do a scene if I feel like I've already written it) and will probably average anywhere from one to two (or three, depending on how many scenes they have) per episode. Other events will be incorporated, though the main focus is Andrew and Bridget. Like I said, the intention is that they're chronological, but we'll see.

Also, just because it's obligatory, I don't own Ringer. Even though it might be more awesome if I did. It belongs to Warner Bros. and people who make much more money than I do.

Enjoy, and review if it pleases you (it will _certainly_ please me), and you have the time to do so! Thanks!

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><p>I don't remember when I first met Andrew.<p>

But I'm pretty sure I did sometime, though, that I met him sometime in passing when he'd begun dating my sister. Don't get me wrong, Siobhan pretty much hated me when she was falling for him, and she'd learned a long time ago not to introduce me to her boyfriends because that never went well, so the big introduction never happened. We'd long before started to run with different crowds and drifted apart... but she was still my sister, and I knew she was seeing someone. We did still have a few mutual friends, distant as they were.

She never really stopped being my sister, you see, so I kept tabs on her. I knew she didn't want anything to do with me, but a lifetime habit of looking out for someone doesn't go away just because the relationship isn't there anymore. It's not like I _could_ divorce my sister, even if I'd wanted to.

Siobhan's the older sister, yes, but we both kind of looked out for each other in our own ways. For a long time, our differences complimented each other. I was the practical one who could do things _she_ couldn't, the one who knew how to survive and would do what needed to be done to live. Siobhan was... the one who had dreams and ambitions and plans for how to get everything she wanted. She had taste and refinement and elegant skills I didn't, the sort of things you need to really succeed in society. But I was the one who'd had her share of hard knocks, who'd seen the worst of people, and I could tell you what kind of person someone was, the good, the bad, and the ugly, within five minutes of meeting them. For all Siobhan's pretensions at being discerning, _I_ was the one who was ultimately better judge of character.

Siobhan went out of her way to avoid me, but I still saw her sometimes in passing. I won't go as far as to say that I'd gotten my life together around the time she left, but what happened with Sean was definitely a wake-up call for me, and it scared me into sobriety the way nothing else could. After what I'd done, drugs and alcohol were too kind. I wallowed in my self-hatred, needed it to keep going. I thought that hurting myself, that putting myself through this pain, would in some way equal and compensate for my mistake... but there was no compensating for something like that.

Anyway, Tahoe was small enough for me to notice someone like Andrew, especially if he was hanging around visiting my sister. Tahoe's not that big, and we all enjoy the attractions, rich or poor. She'd mentioned him once or twice in the few times I'd mustered up the guts to make a sober phone call to her. I... didn't think it was anything serious until I found out she was moving to New York to be with him, this man I'd never met. It bothered me, never having met him, because I couldn't judge whether or not he was good enough for my sister.

But maybe if I'd seen them together, seeing what I'd seen of their marriage, I might've thought _he_ was too good for my sister, that maybe I'd been blinded by my guilt and had judged her wrongly.

Either way, I suppose you could say I first knew him from a photograph.

My sister didn't invite me to her wedding. I received no gold-embossed invitation on cream paper. She hadn't even given me her new cellphone number or mailing address when she'd moved, so I had no way to contact her. And I guess you could say I really went off the rails when Siobhan left because I had no one left to turn to, no reason to not put the hot needle in my arm. Siobhan was one of my last connections to a world where I wasn't an addict, and without that connection, without even the thought of my sister to rescue me, I sank deeper into the mire of my addictions. The alcohol and the heroin and everything else made me forget about the failed relationships, the bridges I'd burned, the many mistakes I'd made.

My sister had made it abundantly clear that she wanted to start over in a perfect new life that didn't involve me whatsoever, and I guess you could say I was a little spiteful. There was no room for me in her perfect little lie. It was real easy to hate myself when I knew that even my twin sister didn't love me or think I was worth sticking around. I couldn't even blame her, because I hated me too, hated the things I'd done to her, the only person who'd ever really loved and understood me.

I don't remember much of the year after she left, but I do remember the letter she sent me. She wrote me a letter on her wedding day, I guess. I don't know if she wrote it before her wedding and sent it later or what, since I don't know her actual wedding day... but it was a very beautiful letter, written in her graceful calligraphy-like script. At one point I had the words memorized from reading the letter so much, but I don't remember her exact words anymore.

She said she was thinking about me. She didn't say that I should've been there, but I could tell that she was thinking it. She didn't say that she wished I could've been there, but I think she did. I think she wanted me, her only family, to be there on her wedding day, like a normal, reliable sister. I know _I_ wanted to be there. And I would've pulled it together the best I could for her. But my sister couldn't trust me, couldn't expect me to be the sort of Maid of Honor she needed.

I don't blame her, since, after all, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm more the type of the girl who'd be providing the entertainment at the bachelor party, the kind who'd fool around with the groom or screw one of his friends.

She wrote a bit about our parents, how she wished Mom could be there to see one of us getting the Princess wedding she'd dreamed of for us. I always wondered who gave her away at the wedding, with our parents both dead and both Siobhan and Andrew seeming to lack any close, older friends. Siobhan didn't say where the wedding was being held, didn't give me any details lest I cook up a half-assed plan to go and show up uninvited. She described the ceremony a bit for my supposed benefit, filled the letter with details of her elaborate, insanely romantic, over-the-top plans. She sent me a picture of her in her wedding dress, looking positively radiant and the most beautiful I have ever seen her, a woman any man could fall in love with. It's yellowing now, but I still have it stashed somewhere in my sister's jewelry box.

Siobhan wrote that she missed me, but asked me not to contact her (as if I knew how to do that), saying that this was the best for both of us. It wasn't; being apart from her, not being a part of her life, made my heart hurt and made it that much easier to succumb to the bottle and the horse. It was what was best and most convenient for her, and I guess she needed to look out for her new family now. Strangely, though, she didn't write much about Andrew, nothing sappy like wedding vows, not even a description of how he looked. All she said was that, from this day forward, she was going to be _Mrs. Andrew Martin_, whatever that entailed.

It sounded like a pretty big deal to me.

And she said that she was so happy, that she really loved him, and that Andrew loved her more than she could've ever imagined. And she did sound genuinely excited to be starting a new life with him, so I was happy for her and him and silently wished her the best. I wasn't sure if she'd ever try to contact me again; it hardly seemed like she needed me in her life... yet, for whatever reason, she'd felt like sharing the happiest day of her life with me. I tried to tell myself that meant something, but I didn't know what it meant.

Needless to say, I went on a two-day bender the day after I got the letter. I don't always deal with rejection very well, even if I deserve it, especially when it comes from the person I love most in the entire world. Lov_ed_, I should say. She's dead now, even if it doesn't feel that way, and I ought to remind myself of that fact every day... only how can she be dead when I'm living her life, right?

I might not have known her address or anything, but I still had her name and her face. And whenever I was around a phonebook or computer, I thought of nothing but contacting her. It took me about two years before I finally got up the guts and the temporary sobriety to try and find her. I typed her name in Google a few times, looking for pictures or anything, really, since I hadn't heard from her in years, and I was surprised to see her face staring back at me on the arm of this vaguely familiar-looking man.

It was a photo from some fundraiser or charity event, and the caption said something about Mr. Martin, a British financier, whatever that was, and his lovely wife, Siobhan, who had organized an event. I looked back earlier and found a wedding announcement in the Society section with a photo of the two of them on their wedding day, smiling and looking for all the world like they were actually in love. I printed the picture out, cut the paper, and put it in my wallet with the other pictures of the life I could've had. He looked like Siobhan's usual type: handsome but not too handsome, well-dressed, successful, buckets of cash, not a single hair out of place, with the strong jaw of a superhero-type. In fact, everything about him screamed superhero, from his hairstyle to the cleft in his chin to the way he dressed. And he'd saved my sister from a life tied to mine, so maybe he was that superhero for her.

I don't know. I don't really know what it was like between the two of them back then, in the beginning. Maybe it really was as good as everyone says it was. Then again, maybe Siobhan was always just as screwed up as me, only better at hiding it.

I knew I'd seen him before, but I couldn't really place him. Like I said, my memory of that year wasn't so great. Maybe I saw him hanging around Siobhan's, maybe I passed by him in the hall or lobby of a hotel I was visiting, maybe I saw him for a moment on a boat or casino or beach, hell, maybe I'd given him a lap-dance or something back when I worked in that classier strip-club. I doubted I'd had a conversation with him, unless he'd mistaken me for Siobhan. Either way, I didn't think too much about it at the time.

He seemed solid and dependable and rather boring, so I figured worst-case scenario, he and my sister would get a divorce after three-to-seven years, and my sister would make off with some massive alimony payments. I wondered if she would have another kid, if I'd _ever _get to be a part of her life again, not that I deserved it, but I made myself stop wondering real fast because I knew those kinda thoughts only led me to the bottom of an empty bottle of Jack or José.

And then, one day, I found her address. I didn't do anything with it for the longest time because I was still using, and I wanted to contact my sister when I was someone... _better_... when I'd made something out of myself and wasn't just another disappointment to her. I wanted to be someone she could be proud of, someone who'd overcome that addiction.

I finally wrote that letter to her two years later, sober as a Mormon. I wrote it from the heart, from all the horrible thoughts that had been eating me for all of my adult life, with the clarity that had returned with the pains of withdrawal and itchy uncertainty of my imposed sobriety.

I was pretty surprised she responded at all, but Siobhan always was a better person than me, and it meant a lot to me that she wanted to see me. Maybe she just wanted to see it to believe it. So I ran to her and her Hampton mansion, that "weekend place." And that's where I saw the real pictures of the two of them. There weren't as many as I thought there probably should be for a married couple, and I noticed that my sister didn't even give them a cursory glance, just like she didn't seem to be thrilled about her husband's two-week overseas business trip. But I didn't start putting things together then, I just looked at the pictures and tried to figure out how my sister's life worked.

Clearly I didn't figure it out or maybe she'd still be here, and I wouldn't be her.

Honestly, though, as horrible as it is, seeing Bodaway strangling Shaylene was probably the best thing that could've happened to me. I've always needed to someone to force my hand to get me to do something to change my life. And I needed a way out, and testifying was the only way out. It got me out of the stripping and the hooking and the jail charges. It got me out of the addiction and into a rehab program that actually worked, got me clean and sober again for the first time in over a decade. It got me Malcolm and a new start, and it gave me those last moments with my sister where I could hear her say she forgave me, even if I didn't believe it. And if I hadn't seen Bodaway strangling Shaylene with his bare hands, it could've been me in that alley a few weeks or months later, gasping my last breaths. Her death saved my life.

And I wouldn't be here, facing the intensely surreal feeling of falling for my dead sister's husband while pretending to be her and wondering if someone else's feelings aren't rubbing off on me.


	2. First Impressions

I'd like to say that I wanted to wait because the chapter after this one isn't finished, but it's Christmastime, and I'm in a giving mood. And I kind of knew I was going to do this anyway, and all the reviews I received today just kind of encouraged me to update this as I originally intended to post both first and second chapter at approximately the same time. But of course this story isn't running quite as chronological as I'd like right now, so it may be a while before the next update (but, unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, depending on how you look at it, this'll probably be updated before Ringer comes back from its soul-crushing two-month hiatus). Updates will occur more quickly when I have chapters, obviously, which is one of the problems of not writing this in chronological order. So yeah, I'll do my best.

As I said, this chapter happens during the pilot, as I think the title makes pretty clear. The next chapter will cover the OTHER important conversation they have during that episode, and I'll (probably?) skim over the whole... oh, snap, my sister's having an affair with Henry thing. As I said before, mind you, this chapter comes from me literally scrutinizing every second of the scene from tone to microexpressions to the background crap, every single minute detail, you name it, every little maddening bit, stopping and starting and stopping and starting. So it's a product of love and serious obsession, and I have no idea how I wrote most of it in a night or so. Some of this chapter is also me exploring what actually amounts to just a few seconds of the entire episode but which I ultimately found very interesting, which is the bit when Andrew's in the shower and coming out of it and Bridget not at all knowing what he expects. And this chapter might not be anything especially new, but there will be chapters that have things in them that didn't occur in the show, I promise (I just haven't gotten to those yet. They're around episodes three and four so far), and I won't do every single conversation Andrew and Bridget ever had because, hell, some of them rather bore me... and, besides, I'm tracking the _important_ moments and conversations in their relationship.

Anyway, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the chapter, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukkah, Happy Kwanzaa (does anyone actually celebrate that?), Happy Holidays, Happy New Year... and any other holiday you can think of that falls at this time of year! Reviews would be really, really, really lovely and encourage me to keep working on that next chapter, so help a sister out here. ;) Thank you!

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><p>As for when we actually met, in person, the time I could remember... well, you could say we definitely got off on the wrong foot. I was very deceived about the basic nature of my sister's marriage, which, I was to learn, was apparently more of a business partnership and agreement to semi-tolerate each other and coexist than a union of two hearts or a lifelong bond. I had all these ideas about how marriage was supposed to work and what it was, based on all the fairytale crap I'd heard all my life and every movie or sitcom I'd ever watched. I was expecting domestic bliss, and what I got was a broken, dysfunctional mess, two damaged people who were bound together by this travesty of a promise to be together for the rest of their (miserable) lives.<p>

It was kind of a letdown, to be honest. Never knowing anything like marriage, unless living with a few losers I barely remember and hooking up with random guys in heroin dens when I was strung out of my mind counts, I was expecting something big and real, the kind of life I didn't deserve but had always secretly wanted. I was expecting a perfect Christmas card family, like the pictures the suited-up men I screwed showed me in the champagne room while drunkenly confessing their lives. You know, before they asked me how much for a little "extra."

You have to understand that, going into it, I was completely terrified he was going to figure me out right away. I hadn't really intended to be Siobhan, had sort of fallen into it, and playing pretend for her husband was not something I'd anticipated having to do. I was not thrilled that I'd have to deal with him because, to be frank, the whole thing reminded me rather unpleasantly of a Law and Order: SVU episode I'd seen about a set of Romanian mail-order brides. One of the twins had gotten mixed up with some bad people, hooking and being pimped out and whatnot, and the other one had been brutally murdered in her place and the other twin had assumed her sister's identity with her daughter and husband. Needless to say, things had gotten messy, and it had not ended well.

Her husband, of all people, would almost certainly see through the act, immediately divining the many differences between myself and my sister, from me shying away from him and his touch to the differences in our techniques and every minute difference in our tastes and appearances. He would see the hollows under my bloodshot eyes, my drawn features, some of the marks of my addiction that hadn't faded away as well as I'd hoped. Of course, though, I reminded myself that I was used to not shying away from touch, no matter how repulsive it was, that I'd learned to suppress this reflex in my time soliciting. I'd almost certainly done worse than him, pretended I was interested in men who weren't interesting or funny or attractive at all... I'd done that girlfriend experience crap before too, so I could definitely do this. Especially since I had no other choice.

I wasn't ready for him to show up when he did. I had only moments to compose myself and ready myself for selling the lie to someone who really knew my sister, trying frantically to remember all she'd ever said about him and everything I knew about my sister and her new life. But, as terrified as I was that I was going to fail, I knew I had it in me to do it. I'm pretty damn good at being who other men want me to be, and didn't I know my sister better than anyone? I told myself I could be cautious at first and then size Andrew up, figure out what he wanted and what he expected, and be that woman. For as long as I had to be.

But of course actually meeting him knocked all my brilliant plans and expectations out of the water.

I hid it well, but I was a nervous wreck pretty much the minute I heard his booming voice calling my sister's name and echoing through the empty apartment. My sister's apartment had been pretty much what I expected, tastefully done, the kind of effortless style that comes with a lot of money. But I walked in, and it didn't feel a home to me. It was too neat, too sterile, too perfect for me to feel like anyone lived there. Maybe that should've been a sign that my sister wasn't as happy as she'd pretended; it didn't look like the home of a happy marriage, especially with that terrifying giant artsy emo photo of my sister hanging in the hallway. Even my sister's bedroom seemed terribly impersonal. The knickknacks on the nightstand didn't even look like anything my sister would like, even though Siobhan's taste could run to the ugly.

I didn't have much time to think, though, so I imagined and went over briefly what I was going to do. I am Siobhan Martin, I told myself, and my husband Andrew is just coming back from an overseas business trip. We'd missed each other. It was lonely here without him. Then I heard his footsteps, the swish of his clothes, the sound of a rolling bag on the floor, and my heart shot up into my throat. Here goes nothing, I thought, taking a deep breath. I steeled myself to kiss him, and then I turned around and got my first sight of him. He wore a rather grim expression, shoulders tense, head tilted to one side, dark circles under his eyes. That probably should've been a warning, but I wrote it off as him being in a bad mood from his travel.

I thought he looked damn good for someone who'd just been on a transatlantic flight and was probably horribly jetlagged. He didn't look dirty or bedraggled at all in that crisp suit; furthermore, he was strangely clean-shaven. He was a _lot_ better looking in person, so much so that it overwhelmed me a bit as I gave him my best flirtatious smile. I'm not gonna lie; my smile widened a bit when I actually saw him. It's like it hit me, upon seeing him, that he was a real person, not just some cardboard cut-out from my sister's storybook life. He wore a sort of chagrined half-smile, like he was vaguely happy to see me but reluctant to show more emotion than that. "Hi," I said softly. It was a little different yet similar to the alluring voice I used when I wanted to seduce someone.

Then I made my fateful mistake; though, I suppose, as far as mistakes go, it was a delicious one. I took three steps forward, walking up to him and meeting him halfway. And I kissed him like a good wife would. His lips were cold and a little stiff but plenty pliant. His surprised lips barely pressed back against mine, and that's when it first hit me that something was _very_ wrong with my sister's marriage. He hadn't seen his wife in at least a week, and he'd kissed me with no passion and limp lips. I'd never been married, but I was fairly certain that, when a spouse leaves for a business trip, said spouse comes back lonely and wanting closeness (i.e. wanting to get laid). But not, apparently, my sister's husband. The awkward but still not-half-bad kiss barely lasted for a second before I pulled away. Our lips separated with a loud, misleading smack.

He looked down for a second or so right afterward, either looking past me or staring at my lips in a moment of silent contemplation, as if he were absorbing what had just happened. I noted the worry lines in his forehead, relaxed for now but not for long. It struck me once again that he looked familiar, and I wondered where else I'd come across him, aside from those photos. I was still leaning forward a bit too eagerly, trying to sell the act. I had no clue what to think; all the thoughts had flown out of my head the minute his lips touched mine.

He stared at me, jaw a little slack and mouth partly open in what was clearly surprise. A mouth that had, rather unfortunately, _not_ been open during our kiss. _Okaaay_, I thought, apparently they don't _do_ that, filing that information away for later. He didn't say anything for two seconds, like I'd caught him so far off-guard with that kiss that I'd left him speechless. Looking back, it's pretty clear he didn't know how to react around my sister anymore, that their marriage had really deteriorated that much, but how was I supposed to know that? His brows came together in confusion, and his mouth closed slowly. "Well, aren't _you_ friendly," he muttered, staring at me intently as the hints of a dimple appeared on one side of his face. He was staring at me so intently that I started to sweat a little.

Up close, I saw that his eyes were dark brown, about the same color as his hair. I hadn't been able to see that in the pictures, hadn't noticed. I looked down briefly, trying to think of a way to explain it since it was apparently unfathomable to him that his wife could actually be excited to see him again. I pursed my lips and looked back up at him, still smiling faintly, a bit sheepishly. I felt like I shouldn't have to explain it to him, though. "It's been forever," I murmured, still trying to salvage things.

His eyes darted briefly to the side, though a flash of his expression suggested that maybe he did like the idea a little bit. He then gave me a downright suspicious look, questioning me and my motives, and I thought then that his face looked a bit angry. I had yet to realize that that was just his default facial expression, whether with my sister or otherwise. A bit of a smile played at his lips nonetheless, like he'd liked what I said, been flattered by it, but wouldn't admit it or believe it. He looked down into my eyes, and I felt like he was trying to see right through me. I was worried he'd be successful at it; he already seemed suspicious enough. "Two weeks is hardly forever," he chided, already starting to move past me. I would've said I'd missed him, just to shut him up, but Siobhan wouldn't have said that at all—that much was obvious to me already.

My face fell, and I looked at the floor, somewhat in a state of disbelief that things were turning out so badly. I'd barely been Siobhan for five minutes! I turned a little, moving out of his way so he wouldn't barrel into me. Great, I thought, I've said four words to the guy, and he's already fleeing to his closet. I sucked in another breath, turning to watch him, wary of this stranger my sister had married. Surprisingly, he half-turned to face me, already shrugging off his coat. He eyed me carefully, gaze flicking up and down, taking inventory of me from head to toe. I was used to that too, though, used to men staring and eying me, but not like this. He wasn't undressing me with his eyes. I straightened under his stare, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. Had I worn the wrong clothes? Was I wearing them the wrong way? Did I not accessorize correctly? "Have you lost weight?" he asked suddenly.

My eyes widened a little. His words had snapped me back to reality. I was really hoping he wouldn't notice that I was considerably skinnier than my sister, a side-effect of the drugs, withdrawal, my seven-cup-of-coffee-a-day habit, and living under protective custody, afraid I was going to be killed at any moment for the past months. I glanced down, eying my hips and my outfit, wondering how he'd noticed. I thought my clothes were fairly loose. Nonetheless, I smiled faintly, smoothing my outfit. "Maybe a little." Being skinny was good, right?

He'd grabbed a hanger and was in the process of putting his coat on it. He examined me once again, up and down, brow slowly furrowing. "Hm..." And then a frown, the first of many. His lips pressed into a tight line. That was when I knew he wasn't going to say something good. "You're too thin," he pronounced with disapproval rather than worry, once again turning his back on me to hang up the coat. Did he even care if his wife lost weight? Or did he just care how it looked?

It made me feel strangely insecure about my body, a feeling I hadn't had in years. My body had been good enough for plenty of other men, albeit not men like my sister's husband, but I hadn't gone after men of his class and sophistication for years. I used to be classier, you know, used to cozy up to all those business types who'd come to Tahoe for the lake and the skiing and the casinos. I'd moonlighted occasionally as an escort or call-girl, had worked in some of the nicer strip-clubs for a while because I looked refined and delicate, and they paid better. Siobhan wasn't the only one who could feign sophistication and elegance. She just did it better because she could actually appreciate the finer things in life in a way I couldn't, really.

More importantly, why couldn't I say anything right with him? I glanced down at the ground again, any traces of a smile disappearing from my face, trying to think of something to say when I knew next-to-nothing about him or their life together. Andrew shrugged out of his blazer with his back to me. Not for the first time and certainly not the last, I asked myself what Siobhan would say. I went over in my head all that she had told me about him... that he was on a business trip to London, that he was also visiting his daughter Juliet in boarding school, that he didn't know about me... That left me with two options, asking about his business or asking about his daughter. I chose the safer topic. "So how was London?" The words came out a bit faster and more awkward than I intended; the discomfort was beginning to sink in.

I was beginning to despair, feeling like there was absolutely no way I could carry this off, pretending to be my sister. For someone seemingly so disinterested, my sister's husband was a sharp man, and he seemed to notice every little thing.

He reached for another unclothed hanger. "Cold," he said, half-turning towards me once more so that I got a nice glimpse of his profile. Like you, I thought. Andrew seemed to me then a bit of a stereotype, the British cold fish, reserved and formal and emotionally-stunted. I know Andrew's more than that now, but he's still all of those things. He sighed, turning away a bit and fiddling with his blazer and the hanger. "But I did get that investor on board." He seemed kind of proud or pleased with that, at least.

I forced a smile, unsure of what, exactly, I was supposed to say. I knew her husband did something with investments and stocks and finance, and it sounded like a good thing, like the kind of thing he'd want. That was why he'd gone to London in the first place. Obviously my sister's husband must be somewhat trustworthy and a good salesman if he manages to convince people to trust him with their money. I'll admit I was reaching, but I was kind of wondering by that point why my sister had chosen him in the first place, or if his bank account and handsomeness had made the choice for her. I tried to imagine this man wooing my sister, who was, in her own ways, just as closed-off, but I couldn't picture him sweeping my sister off her feet. In fact, I had trouble believing he was in love with her at all. I wondered if he had a mistress in London.

"Congratulations," I said finally. I meant it as much as I could in the circumstances. My smile didn't meet my eyes, but of course he didn't see that.

I don't know what Andrew expected me to say, but that, evidently, wasn't it. Surprise, surprise. He turned around fully to face me, having already begun to undo his rather drab periwinkle tie. I'd noticed the knot earlier, tight and triangular, lacking the refinement of his traditional Windsor, probably done hastily at JFK after he'd loosened it during the flight. His mouth was faintly open once again, and he merely stared at me for a moment, disbelieving. There was something almost soft about the expression, but it took barely a second for his expression to harden. He tilted his head in the other direction, giving me a look, fingers still working at his tie, tugging at the fabric. It seemed like a ridiculous pastel now, once he wasn't wearing the jacket anymore. The frown had returned. "Are you being sarcastic?" he asked in a tone I couldn't identify, his voice considerably quieter.

He'd definitely raised his defenses by that point, and I could feel that I was treading on thin ice. It was ridiculous since I'd done absolutely nothing to offend him. I was just trying to make a conversation with him like civilized human beings. He was still frowning, eyes boring into me like he was looking for a fight or a reason to be mad at me. What had my sister done to merit this? Why did she have such a dysfunctional relationship with her husband, and why had she lied to me and made it seem like everything was fine with them? Do they even know each other?

Almost as soon as I'd thought it, I realized why. Siobhan was used to dysfunctional, and she was used to pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't. Our childhood and her relationship with me and my addictions testified to that fact. So why wouldn't she pretend the same about her own husband? And, despite almost five years of marriage, they didn't know each other all that well. They couldn't, not when her husband didn't know about me and almost certainly knew nothing about Sean or her past. How much did my sister know about Andrew anyway? The mild, closed-lipped smile fell off my face to be replaced by a rather sad yet blank expression. "No." I was detached from the moment and his comments, and yet, I wasn't.

I watched as the tie came all the way undone and Andrew took it in hand and started to fold it up properly. His jaw was set tight, his face firm in its stern expression, clearly on edge. I get it now. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for me to cast off the act and say what I wanted, waiting for me to blindsight him with something unpleasant. He couldn't stop staring at me, like he was trying to figure me out, even as he turned to put his tie in its proper place.

"Oh, I've got something for you," he said in a slightly more pleasant tone, moving from where his ties were stored down to his suitcase or something. I perked up a little, foolishly allowing myself to get excited at this. Siobhan loved presents, after all. Maybe he did actually care. Surely this couldn't be something bad, right? I strained to see around him, leaning forward on my toes, searching for whatever he was about to give me.

I couldn't see his face, but I was expecting something nice, something I clearly didn't deserve, like jewelry or a scarf or souvenir or something. I thought you know, okay, maybe he doesn't understand emotions, but maybe he shows people he cares by buying things for them. Some of the men I'd dated had bought me things when they went on trips, just like some clients had given me little tokens of appreciation. But what does Andrew give me? The laundry, reminding me firmly of my place. Two dirty shirts, one white and one pale blue, crumpled up in a ball and thrust at me. "The maid said you were using a new cleaners'," he said dispassionately, walking forward and offering me the clothes.

My smile fell as did my gaze, but I tried to keep it up for appearances' sake. Already I was thinking like my sister. I wondered if Siobhan would've let him get away with that, more or less ordering her around like a servant, and then I made a mental note to find the maid and ask her which cleaner I was now using. And how sad was it that my sister's supposed husband had more substantive conversations with the maid than he did with my sister? Shouldn't she have told him she was using a new dry cleaner? Didn't they talk at all while he was away? I smiled weakly, taking the clothes from him. "I'll take them in the morning," I told him meekly, nodding slightly, making sure to maintain eye contact. That was all I could do to convince him.

At that point, he'd said so many vaguely insulting things to me that I felt like I could do nothing right, that nothing I did was enough for him, and wondered if he always talked to my sister like that, like she was beneath him or something. He'd mocked me, misinterpreted my actions, and hadn't even seemed to act like he was happy to see me, his supposed wife, again. It seemed to me that maybe he was causing a lot of the problems between himself and my sister; he was certainly perpetuating them, even when no harm was meant.

I was really uncertain about what sort of man he was. That, I think, bothered me more, the fact that I'd met him and had spoken to him for less than two minutes and couldn't figure him out. I'd only gotten more confused after talking to him. I didn't like to think that my sister had married a controlling, emotionally-abusive asshole, but maybe my sister _had_ married the wrong kind of man, like I'd always feared she would. But I also made excuses for him, like maybe he was just in a bad mood or tired from the travel or something else was going on at work or with his daughter that I didn't know about. Maybe he wasn't that bad... he was just having a bad day. After all, I didn't _really _know him.

I was fairly certain my sister wouldn't stand for being talked to in the way I just had been, certainly wouldn't have just stood there and made monosyllabic response after monosyllabic response in an attempt to smooth things over with him. But I was kind of used to being talked to like that, having been criticized by enough bouncers and patrons at the club, mocked by more than my share of judgmental people who claimed they wanted to help me or knew better than I did. Of course, in my old life, when people talked down to me, I didn't feel as disappointed as I did now.

And, as Bridget, I would either ignore them because I didn't care (and if I did, I'd just fix that by snorting or smoking or injecting something) or tell them exactly where they could shove it and potentially punch or slap a bitch. You don't survive long as a stripper or a hooker in Lake Tahoe without knowing how to defend yourself. I was good at that. I might've been just fine if I hadn't gone down and out and gotten mixed up with Bodaway and his goons.

But then I wouldn't be here now, would I?

Once again, I moved out of the way as Andrew came barreling towards me. Didn't he ever stop moving? Or was he just that restless in my presence? I followed him, clothes still in hand, out of a lack of anything better to do. "Oh, that email you sent about the ballet?" he said, stopping and slowly turning around. I stopped walking too. Apparently my sister emailed him. How passive-aggressive and disinterested of her. It reminded me of something our mutual high school best friend had said about email being for geeks and pedophiles. I missed him a lot and often wondered what had become of him in the years since we'd lost touch.

However, thoughts of my old friend flew out of my mind quickly. Andrew had begun to unbutton his shirt, and I felt a little faint all of a sudden. It had been a _while_ since I'd seen a man in any substantial state of undress. Literally, I think the last time was when I was still using, before I spent a couple weeks in prison and they shipped me off to rehab and relocated me once I finally agreed to talk about Macawi. I think it was either some one-night stand or a trick; I don't really remember since I was pretty high, but it was in a motel room, at least.

His shirt was already half unbuttoned, and I was _riveted_. His lip curled, a hesitant look on his face, like he was afraid of how I'd react. "I-I really don't want to go," he said, making a bit of a face. So Andrew didn't really care for the ballet. Well, what grown straight man really did? I tried to keep my face as blank as possible to cover up the fact that I was staring with wide eyes, watching him undo each button with a deft flick of his wrist. I blinked, tearing my eyes away from his chest, remembering that he had _said_ something and was currently waiting for my response, giving me an expectant and vaguely annoyed look.

I considered it for a moment and nodded. I didn't particularly care for the ballet either, or for going out if I didn't have to. Stripping had soured dancing for me. "Okay," I agreed with an infinitesimal shrug. I figured that was what Andrew wanted to hear anyway, so surely there was no way he could object to that. I did not have to fake the smile or the interest that time.

Naturally, as if he were on some quest to prove me wrong and make me feel stupid, Andrew stepped in. He looked down, silent for a moment. "That was easy," he reflected, giving me that suspicious, searching look once more. And there was the furrowed brow yet again. Did he have to say it with such surprise? My sister wasn't really _that_ bad. Why did he expect her to put up such a fight? Was this the sort of thing they argued about a lot? I was, however, distracted from my questions by the fact that his shirt was almost entirely unbuttoned, and I would soon be seeing more than just a long sliver of his skin and tantalizing flashes of more.

My eyes dropped involuntarily as he tugged the shirt out of his pants, undoing the last two buttons blisteringly quick and nearly ripping his shirt off his broad, broad shoulders that the suit did not do justice. My sister's husband definitely worked out, but not for my sister's benefit, apparently. I didn't dare blink, drinking in the sight of a very, very attractive shirtless man like I had an unquenchable thirst. It had been _so_ long, too long. Why didn't Siobhan want to kiss him anyway? Even if he was an asshole and always said the wrong thing, it would be a useful way of getting him to shut up. Besides, angry sex could be hot. Then again, that was probably the only kind of sex he and Siobhan ever had. Maybe _that_ was why he was trying so hard to push my buttons.

And maybe it was working a little bit?

Maybe he watched me with a trace of some emotion I can't name, or maybe he'd noticed that I was eying him with very thinly-veiled interest, since he'd put on this little show for me. You would really think stripteases don't appeal to strippers, but I suddenly, finally understood the appeal of watching a stranger undress for you and you alone. Either way, the emotion was too brief to adequately decipher. There was a look of tired resignation on his face. He sighed, extracting his arms from the sleeves, finally freeing himself from the uncomfortable confines of his shirt. I could feel myself salivating as I watched the way his pectorals and abdominal muscles flexed. He was a lot more muscular than I'd expected under the suit, especially for a guy with a desk job.

His chest looked so smooth; I half-wanted to reach out and touch him to make sure he was real. "I'll take a shower," he breathed, briefly raising his eyebrows, lips curving into a grudging smile. Was that supposed to be a signal of some kind? An invitation? He uncharacteristically dropped his shirt on the floor, presumably for me to pick up, and turned around to go do that without another word. It was like he was uncomfortable around me. He couldn't even finish stripping with me in the room. I nodded to myself, eying his fast-retreating back with wide eyes, vaguely apprehensive as to what was going to happen next. Did he expect sex?

The mere thought sent me into a tailspin. I sucked in a breath, thinking about it and trying not to freak out. Of course he did. I'd kissed him, and he'd just gotten back from a two-week-long business trip. He wanted some comfort, some TLC from his wife, and that was perfectly understandable and reasonable, no matter how bad their marriage was. Only... how bad was it, really? The only reasons he wouldn't would be if he was having an affair, if he was too tired to do anything, or if one of us had some weird sexual dysfunction I didn't know about.

I wasn't _that_ girl anymore, and I didn't want to do those things anymore, but I could do that. After I stopped stripping and hooking, I made a promise to myself that I would never have sex with another man I didn't like or want to have sex with, that I would do my best to get to know him first and take my time developing feelings for him before I took it to the next level.

Obviously this promise would have to go if I was going to be my sister, or else I'd have to get around to liking her husband real fast, which didn't look especially likely at that particular point in time, especially since he was my dead sister's husband, and doing things with him just seemed... wrong. But, I mused, at least Andrew was attractive, and... while I couldn't say I was _thrilled _to have to have sex with him... it felt a little like those times when a cop would pull me over and force me to have sex with him, usually for free, so he wouldn't arrest me, when I didn't really have a choice.

There's nothing I hate more than not having a choice, but it's kind of the story of my life... no options, no prospects, no choice, no control. Not having a choice is like being violated over and over again.

But again, like I was saying, I wasn't exactly thrilled at what was to come, but I couldn't really say that I minded too much having to have sex with him or that the prospect of sex didn't excite me just a little bit. I knew I'd feel dirty and guilty afterwards, the same way I always did unless I was too high or drunk to remember, but it'd be worse than usual because I was sober and knew what I was doing, and this was my dead sister's _husband_, not some random trick or alcohol-fueled fling.

The promise was a luxury I could no longer afford. Nonetheless, I steeled myself, drawing all my courage up, for the likely possibility, just as I'd steeled myself to kiss him. I would be Siobhan and do as she did. I'd let him do what he wanted to me. I told myself he was just another john. But he wasn't. He was somehow more than that. He was a real person with real feelings who must've, at some point, loved my sister enough to marry her.

Still, I could do it, could do _him_, if I had to. I'd done worse, after all, much, **much** worse for drugs and money and food and a roof over my head. I'd done it in alleys, heroin dens, the shadiest motel rooms, in the back seats of cars, a couple times even in the bathroom of one of the clubs I'd been working. I'd definitely slept with married men before, not that I liked it, but it was different anyway, since he thought I was his wife. Maybe worse, maybe better, I didn't really know. And it wasn't exactly the first time I'd hooked up with one of Siobhan's boyfriends, accidentally or on purpose.

Some of them took advantage of me when I was drunk or out of it. I'd be sleeping on her couch or something, and I'd wake up with one of these losers on top of me, pawing at my clothes. Some of them thought I was her and kissed me, and it felt so good to have someone look at me differently that I just didn't open my mouth but pretended I was her and let them. And, of course, sometimes we'd liked the same boys, and they'd preferred me. But her husband... that was different. That was unforgivable, even if she wasn't alive to see it.

Setting Andrew's dirty clothes in a pile with some other things that looked dirty, I put on my sister's coat and went outside to get some fresh air and talk to Malcolm, desperately seeking advice and reassurance. He always knew what to do. I figured I had a bit of time, but I peered through the doors every now and then nonetheless to make sure Andrew hadn't emerged. And I told him everything, except not about the odds of me having to sleep with my sister's husband, and he was worried, and then I saw this creepy guy in all black looking up at me; he was wearing a trenchcoat, for God's sake, like any self-respecting hitman! I tried to tell myself that it was ridiculous to think he was standing in the street staring at me. Siobhan lives on the fourteen floor... how could he have seen me or known that that was my sister's apartment?

And, honestly, Henry wonders why I'm not interested? Maybe it's because he's interested enough for the both of us! For someone my sister saw literally all the time, the guy sure is a stalker! And I'm sorry (well, not really), but stalking a girl just isn't attractive. It doesn't make a woman interested unless she's got a pathological need for attention.

I guess that's my sister for you, though. It's why she likes big, shiny jewelry, rich men, and fancy high-heels. Siobhan's always been the one of us who constantly wanted the spotlight. She was the one with big dreams who wanted to rise above our screwed-up childhood and make something out of herself. And I was the one who just wanted to forget about it, to bury it, to fade into the background and just live a normal life.

Nothing about my life is normal. In fact, I'm pretty damn convinced that my life has never been normal nor will it ever be normal. The fact that I am currently pretending to be my dead sister only further reinforces this point.

Anyway, I was freaked out, so I hung up the phone and went hurriedly inside. At least I sort of knew what to expect from Andrew, and I knew what was awaiting me there. I heard the shower water running and stashed the gun in my sister's scarf drawer, where presumably no one would ever look for it. I also wondered why my sister had an entire drawer devoted to ugly scarves, but it seemed like she never went without one, so go figure. I took off her coat and sweater, throwing them on the couch. My sister probably wouldn't have done that, since Siobhan liked everything in its proper place, but I was tired and running out of time.

I started to pull up the camisole I was wearing in order to change and start getting ready for bed, stopping dead in my sister's bedroom. My fingers stilled when they reached my waist, and I heard the shower stop running. I turned around, facing the direction of the bathroom, half-expecting a very naked Andrew to burst in immediately. I don't suppose I would've minded too much since it _had_ actually been forever (I hadn't been entirely lying to Andrew when I'd said that), and I was so horny I knew I'd probably have a good time if he was even halfway decent, but I wasn't ready to commit myself fully to the lie and sleep with my sister's husband, whom I barely knew, much less on my first day living her life. When he didn't come right away, I paused a moment, considering it.

I decided I wouldn't sleep with him unless I absolutely had to or couldn't possibly get out of it without him suspecting something. He was tired, and he hadn't exactly been enthusiastic when I kissed him... maybe he didn't want to... I quickly crossed the room, kicking off my shoes and climbing onto my side of the bed, sinking into the softness of the pillows and pulling a shrug over myself. I really was exhausted. These clothes were comfortable enough to sleep in, I supposed. I had just closed my eyes and curled up into a ball, intending to sleep or at least feign sleep, when Andrew walked into the room, toweling off.

He was pretty quiet, so I barely heard the swish of fabric. He was still slightly damp, surprisingly shirtless, pajama pants sitting dangerously low on his hips, and I guess he must've thought that I was asleep and so he left, disappointed. Not that I saw, but I had an instinct about it. He headed either to his closet to put on a shirt, back to the bathroom, or, maybe, perhaps more likely, to another bedroom, correctly surmising that he'd gotten on my nerves or not wanting to disturb me. Though, then again, the pillow next to me was dented, and the sheets were pulled back when I woke up, so maybe Andrew had slept there, with me, after all, though I could've sworn that I'd slept on that side of the bed at some point too.

Maybe he _had_ thought there was a chance of him getting laid tonight after all; which I thought was even more astonishing, given all the borderline rude things he'd said to me. Was my sister into that sort of thing? I thought that was my thing, going after bad guys who treated me worse. Not to mention the effrontery of expecting sex after an unenthusiastic performance like that! I mean, not that I minded one way or the other... it wasn't _my_ marriage, and not having to sleep with him on my first night, no matter how horny and disturbingly attracted I was to him, was certainly a relief. Either way, that thought and others kept me up half the night.

The questions raced through my mind one after the other, giving me no peace. How long this could go on? When was the last time my sister slept with her husband anyway? Would I have to sleep with him? Did I want to? What had happened in my sister's marriage to make it this way? What kind of man was my sister's husband? What else didn't I know about my sister's life? Who was that man last night? How much, exactly, had my sister changed in six years?


	3. La Regle du Jeu

So I must apologize for several things. 1. It taking me this long to update. Unfortunately I've been busy with other projects and other parts of this story... though I promise much more frequent updates when we get to those parts. I would've skipped over this chapter and posted it later or whatever, but the scene depicted is, I think, a very important moment between them, and I had to write it. And 2. I feel like a lot of this chapter is kind of boring and filler-y, but I feel like Bridget's days as Siobhan must be quite boring in general, and, well, sometimes you just need to get from point A to point B.

Anyway, I can't tell you when the next chapter should be up because that depends on what it is and when I've written it, but I can say after I've figured it out that things should go pretty smoothly, since I've got a good amount around Eps Three and Four and in-between done. I didn't quite imagine how demanding this project would be when I started. Also, in terms of spoilers, in case I haven't mentioned it before, the odds of them popping up somewhere in here are very likely, so you'll see stuff about Sean and Dylan and whatnot occasionally. Maybe a bit of Machado once we find out more about him. This chapter doesn't really have much in the means of that, though, if anything.

I hope you enjoy this, even though it's definitely not the fluffiest chapter and is mostly a lot of Bridget figuring out how Siobhan's life works, and I hope to get the next chapter up sooner. Anyway, review if you like; I'd certainly appreciate it, but I would perhaps appreciate it more if there were more Ringer fics around... the small size of the fandom makes me worry, and I know there are people who watch it because I stalk tumblr, so... seriously, write something. But again, I appreciate reviews.

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><p>I hadn't lived with a man for a long, <em>long<em> time, and, even when I had, it had never been like this. It had never been real or legal... there had always been something... temporary-feeling about it. I guess I always knew it wasn't going to last. By that point, it had been so long since I'd lived with anyone that it was strange to wake up to a man hurrying around my bedroom getting ready, sipping espresso out of a tiny cup, telling me to get up like I was a child, saying I was silly for missing my trainer or whatever because he said I was too thin, like I'd slept in to spite him and waste his money. Still, I'd woken up under the covers, and I hadn't remembered burrowing under the coverlet, so maybe Andrew had come in and tucked me in, seeing that I was cold. Maybe he did care, in his own, quiet, hidden way.

I was nervous filling my sister's shoes, but it was easier to pretend with Gemma than it was with Andrew. Maybe it was because she didn't seem to be attacking me at every turn, or maybe it was because she didn't seem to see right through me like he did. Either way, it was easy to go on with my day like I didn't have a husband at all, to enjoy the idle emptiness of my sister's days while her husband worked. I had never had much downtime, not as a stripper and not as a waitress, not even as any of those other things I once wanted to be. I always had to work a little bit harder than everyone else, always needed it a little bit more, so it was nice to stop and smell the roses and window-shop down Madison Avenue when Gemma and I went out for lunch later.

Maybe my sister's life wasn't as great as I'd thought it was, but it was still better than mine. I couldn't understand why she would kill herself and turn her back on all this. After all, it still seemed like she'd gotten everything she'd ever wanted or dreamed about when she was a child. She would never have to work another day in her life. She would never know poverty again. She had at least three places to live, a closet to kill for, at least a million dollars worth of jewelry... What was it about this life that she hadn't wanted?

I couldn't really say I'd understood her decision to kill herself, but, then again, I'd barely lived her life for a day, so I had no idea what was going on in her head. My self-preservational instincts were a bit stronger than Siobhan's, it seemed. I came back to the apartment several hours before the benefit. I'd found the number of a stylist my sister usually called for this sort of thing. She'd forgotten to schedule an appointment, so I managed to wrangle one. I showed her the dress I was thinking about wearing, the one that had called out to me last night, told her what I wanted to do with my hair and make-up, and she helped me out. She seemed surprised I was so friendly, though. I guess my sister doesn't always deign to be actually nice to the little people.

Andrew wasn't home yet, so I had some time to breathe.

I paid the stylist, and she left, leaving me all alone in the apartment. I took the opportunity to have a look around, trying to figure out what sort of life my sister had led here. The apartment, though, was so impersonal; it looked like it belonged in one of those magazines, not like it was a _home_. There were so very few pictures of my sister and Andrew, not nearly half as many as there should've been. In fact, they seemed to be strategically placed where people wouldn't notice them. I headed timidly to Andrew's study, walking over to the desk that was very clearly Andrew's, afraid to touch it but curious to see what it revealed about him as a man.

He was still distant to me, beyond comprehension. He was that British financier in the photos, my sister's millionaire husband. He was cold to me, but cold like he was trying too hard to turn his feelings off, using that clipped tone and even more brief language so he'd barely have to talk at all. He was busy, efficient, probably smart too, with good instincts for numbers and figures, but he lived in his own home like a stranger. For whatever reason, he was suspicious of me, of my sister. He didn't really... trust me, didn't expect me to do nice things, normal things. He didn't share things with his wife. In fact, our whole conversation had made me wonder if Siobhan and Andrew _ever_ talked after he got back from business trips. Maybe my sister just hadn't cared. Maybe she hadn't ever _wanted_ him to come back.

All I really knew about him then was that he was emotionally-inexpressive, probably a workaholic too. He had a daughter from a previous marriage, but he hadn't even mentioned her last night, so their relationship couldn't be that great. I didn't see many pictures of her around the house, so it was fairly safe to assume my sister hadn't liked her much. Either that or he had no reason to mention his only child to my sister; either way, it made me feel uncomfortable because I knew what it was like to be that kid, the child/sister/friend you're ashamed of, and it _sucked_.

It was so surreal. I was living in my sister's home, her world, her clothes. I'd kind of fallen into a life I'd never expected to have. With space and nice things and fancy clothes... but a decided lack of friends or meaningful things to do. Which, like, I know my life as Bridget wasn't great, but it was _mine_, and I had people who really mattered to me like Malcolm and Jimmy and the people at the restaurant. I had a _purpose_, you know. But here, in my sister's shoes, well... what was I supposed to do? Keep up the lie that my sister was alive, just step into her life and try not to screw anything up too badly?

I spent the next few hours examining her things, looking for traces or remnants of the sister I'd known, looking for an answer to the riddle of who her husband was and what sort of a marriage they had, but all the belongings were so impersonal it was hard to figure much of anything out. When playing detective bored me, I turned on the television and started flipping through the channels. The first channel that flickered to life was the BBC, thank you, Andrew. Informative, I supposed, but boring as hell. I doubted he even had time for television, other than watching one of the "money channels" in the early morning and late evening to see if he'd missed some development on the market.

I'd watched a lot of television recently in my stint in protective custody, so I skipped over the news, which I had no interest in, having been a news item myself for far too many weeks, and headed for lighter programming. My life was more surreal and scripted than "reality television" these days, and celebrity news just reminded me of my own struggles with men and addiction and selling myself. I settled on some melodramatic soap opera, the kind Siobhan had always liked but pretended she didn't.

Just like she pretended like she didn't read trashy romance novels all throughout junior high. My sister had always had a weakness for things like that, romantic comedies too, the cheesier the better. Like _The Notebook_ (insert cringe here). I asked her why once, and she said she liked to imagine that something like that could happen to her too. That she believed in happy endings. She was always so much more sentimental than me. But then again, unlike Siobhan, I never thought I was destined for the fairytale romance. I, on the other hand, had a nastily accurate feeling that my life was more like a horror movie and that I'd come to a bad end.

And of course, just as I'd started to get interested in what was going on, something about this scraggly-looking Billy guy fresh from Hong Kong obsessing over his wife, the elevator dinged, and Andrew walked in. I turned, feeling a bit embarrassed to be caught watching a soap opera, opening my mouth to explain that and my presence in his home office, but Andrew walked past me like I didn't even exist, already undoing his tie. The guy didn't even look at me; it was like he knew I was a stranger... or his relationship with my sister was really so bad that they didn't even acknowledge each other or make small-talk about how their days were. I frowned, staring after him, not comprehending how someone could be so... cold and lacking in common courtesy... to the one person in the world he's supposed to be closest to.

That was kinda when I started to realize that Siobhan had actually really screwed things up here. I didn't think she _could_ screw things up this badly, you know? Over the years I'd come to think that my sister could do no wrong. I thought that screwing lives up was my specialty... but apparently I'd rubbed off on Siobhan a lot more than I'd ever thought. I didn't know how much of that hostility was Andrew's oh-so pleasant personality, but obviously my sister had at the very least brought some of it on herself. If last night taught me anything, it was that Andrew wasn't used to her taking much of an interest or making conversation with him either.

Plus, he had to have at least liked my sister at one point in order to marry her... and he'd stayed married to her for some reason, even if they didn't have sex much or share the same bed or do married couple things... right? Now, what that reason is, I have to admit I have absolutely no idea... so he's either really in love with her underneath it all or just doesn't want to go through the trouble of getting divorced again. Or I'm missing something here.

I'm not gonna lie. Andrew makes me really effing _nervous _because if anyone's going to see through this act, it's going to be him. He's certainly not stupid, and he's the one who'll see me in private moments. It's only a matter of time before he realizes that I don't do the things my sister does, that I have habits she didn't... that I've got a different personality and way of talking... different fingerprints even.

But I don't need to make him think I'm Siobhan forever. I just need him to think I'm Siobhan long enough for me to catch my breath, formulate a plan, and get away. I'll be gone in a few days... It'll be easy to mostly stay out of his way until then, especially with the long hours he works. And who knows Siobhan better than I do, right? I can totally pretend to be my sister for a couple days.

And then I'll get a little money and go to Canada or maybe Europe and start over where Bodaway can't find me. I'll be a waitress or something else legit, and I'll make a new life for myself. I'm good at that, at starting over. It's easy when you don't have a choice... or anything to leave behind but regrets. And, really, what do I have holding me here but Malcolm and those criminal charges and testifying being "the right thing to do?" The only family I have is gone, and I've never done the _right_ thing in my life.

The only way he's not going to catch on is if... he really doesn't know his wife at all, which is kinda sad, and it'd make me wonder if anyone here really knew Siobhan at all. Then again, she never told anyone here she had a twin sister, which is pretty damn important, so I guess I'm the only person in New York City who really knew my sister at all... and, until a few days ago, I hadn't seen her in six years. Pretty pathetic, Shiv, pretty sad. But, I guess, maybe she didn't want anyone to really know her. Sean... changed her, so I guess this is my fault too, in a way.

I glanced at the clock on the television. The opera fundraiser started at eight or so. I had a little more than an hour, so I set out for my sister's closet to put on my outfit. Shiv had such a big place that it was easy to get lost in it. I made a beeline for the bright red dress I'd seen when I walked in; it had been calling my name, and now I had the perfect excuse to wear it. Andrew wasn't in there; he was probably in the bathroom freshening up or whatever. I slipped out of my clothes, taking the dress off its hanger and stepping into it. I zipped it up and was relieved to see that it fit fairly well. My sister had apparently been much skinnier whenever she'd first worn this dress.

I found a red sparkly clutch that matched as well as could be expected and put my phone, lipstick, Shiv's driver's license, and some money in it. Then I found a pretty pair of gold shoes to wear so I wouldn't constantly be stepping on the hem of the dress. I wondered why my sister had so few pairs of flat shoes, given that I could almost never remember her wearing heels in our previous lives together, but I was a pro at wearing excessively tall heels, so I didn't give it much thought as I sat down and fastened the gold sandals.

I heard Andrew come in, felt a little breeze on my bared back. Since he said nothing, I finished with my shoes and went over to Siobhan's jewelry box to find some earrings. I put a ring on my right index finger and a bracelet on my right wrist, mostly in an attempt to balance Siobhan's giant wedding ring. As for the earrings, I found some kind of interesting-looking drop-earrings, not too fancy, in case I was going overboard with the rest of this get-up, though the notation in Shiv's planner and invitation had both said formal wear. I glanced over at Andrew and was mildly surprised to find him staring at me, in the process of tying a bow-tie. I smiled at him awkwardly and, deciding to bypass awkward smalltalk, told him I'd be waiting in the living room. I spritzed on some perfume and sat down on the couch, waiting for Andrew to come out.

He came out a few minutes later, and we chatted in the car about his day at work. I dutifully told him about Gemma and how the loft was coming, wondering if overseeing its construction was really all my sister did every day. If that and shopping was all she did, I was beginning to see why she'd lost it. Andrew smiled and nodded at all the right moments, but I could still feel this unnatural distance that wasn't supposed to exist between husband and wife.

Then we went inside, and he was actually kind of pleasant, smiling, making jokes, like a normal human being. He was attentive, even, charming. He escorted me to my seat, waved and said "hi" to people... and I was starting to wonder where the antisocial, sullen man I'd met had gone. I actually started to convince myself that maybe I'd just caught him on a bad day or that opera improved his mood and... whatever. He looked over at me and smiled, and I kinda noticed him checking me out from the corner of my eye a few times. So I thought maybe all of that was a false alarm, and Andrew was just getting over some fight they'd had about him leaving for two weeks a couple weeks ago.

I'd noticed this strange man watching me, the one from the night before, and I figured he was one of Bodaway's goons out to get me. Of course, I should've noticed he was too well-dressed for that, and, of course, I'd never mentioned my sister to Bodaway because he'd try to shake her down for money or something like that. Plus, I didn't really like talking about Siobhan much anymore. And then came intermission, and Henry Butler tracked me down and forced his lips on mine. And BAM! All of a sudden, my sister was having an affair, and I was mixed up in it.

And with her best friend's husband, no less! I mean, couldn't she find _anyone_ else?

Henry terrified me more than Andrew at that point, since a woman's lover always knows all kinds of intimate things about her, and well, he'd be bound to notice, right, since he and my sister were... Then again, of course, how many guys had I slept with who knew next to nothing about me, from my real name to the fact that I had a sister or even that I had a drug problem?

Not to mention his stalker-like behavior, what with the following me, going to my house, and ambushing me. Point is, his sexual urgency was all the more alarming to me in its urgency, since he was publicly trying to get in my pants in a place where anyone could see us, and not just the mastodons. His hands were all over me, clearly with some sort of expectation. And I _had_ to think of a way to get out of sleeping with him.

I knew what he wanted; that was crystal clear. And I was already taking a big enough risk living in my sister's house with her husband... to even think about having an affair would've made my brain explode. I didn't need another needless complication; Henry was a choice, someone I could avoid... Andrew wasn't. Besides, I didn't need to add any more secrets to the list of things I wasn't telling Andrew, to give him any more reason to be suspicious of me. I didn't need any other men to make demands of me, and, well, maybe my sister could do that, could cheat on Andrew and sleep with both of them or whatever, but I _couldn't _and wouldn't. And then, most glaring of all, I barely knew Henry, but what I did know of him: his shamelessness, his lack of subtlety, the way he seemed to flaunt the affair, his neediness... I didn't like.

Plus, when a random guy comes up to you, one whom you think may be a hitman but who ultimately turns out to be your sister's married lover, forces you into making out with him, ruining your hair and lipstick, and professes his urgent love for you and how much he's missed you—so much that he had to come publicly creep up on you after not seeing you for a week, seriously, a week—I think you'd be rather alarmed too and wouldn't wish to continue any nonexistent relationship. My first impression of him was CREEPER, and, mind you, I've seen many creepers in my life, having been a stripper, but none of course had been so forward as Henry. But I nodded like an idiot and pretended to go along with what he was saying because I was afraid he wouldn't let me go, and I just wanted to get away from him and his _needs_.

Plus, I couldn't very well break things off with him now before I'd formulated a plan about how to do it in a way that my sister would. If left to my own devices, I'd probably have punched him in the face or something, yelled that he was a nutjob or craze-o or some insult Siobhan's refined lips never would've uttered, and made a run for Andrew's car: all in all not a very dignified and well-thought-out approach, but the actions of a panicked caged animal, lashing out. Playing along gave me time to think.

By some miracle, I managed to escape without him kissing me again. I left the room in a stupor, paranoidly checking to see if anyone else had seen me, scanning the room for Andrew. Then I managed to find the bathroom and checked my hair in the mirror to see if Henry had messed it up when he'd grabbed me. He hadn't messed it up too bad; I fixed it up as best as I could, but I didn't think Andrew would notice if my hair looked a little less perfect than before. I checked my wrist for bruises but didn't see any, and then I looked in the mirror and carefully redid my lipstick. How Henry's entire face wasn't red, I have no idea. Either way, the smudged lipstick would've been a clear tip-off, and I had to erase all evidence of whatever the hell that was with Henry. I looked at myself in the mirror for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and examining my reflection, unable to look and see my sister in the mirror, and then I went back to find Andrew.

He was waiting a bit impatiently, water in one hand, champagne in the other, talking to a bunch of boring old money business-types. I smiled and walked over to him, taking the water from his hand. "Sorry, I was in the ladies'," I said by means of an excuse, smiling at the strangers, some of whom were looking at me in very proprietary ways. Andrew slung an arm around my waist as if conscious of the stares, and smiled, continuing the conversation as I sipped my water gingerly and laughed at all the right jokes and whatnot. We went around the circuit, meeting and talking with various people I hopefully would never see again.

I was more than content to let Andrew do most of the talking, claiming a headache when and if others asked why I wasn't being quite so talkative. Fortunately, the intermission didn't last much longer, so I didn't have to endure much more of that. We headed back to our seats, and I quietly asked Andrew if we could order some take-out later. He seemed to have remembered that he hadn't had dinner and agreed with a bit of a surprised expression, like that was an odd suggestion. The refreshments at the benefit hadn't been much more than typical rich people hors d'oeuvres, alcohol, fruit trays, and light desserts, hardly filling, and, in some cases, barely appetizing.

We made it through the rest of the evening without much of a hitch, able to use my "headache" as an excuse to get out of schmoozing and phony chats, probably because Andrew was just as hungry as I was. He seemed to be in a pretty good mood, so I didn't question it and let him order take-out in the car from some Italian place he and Siobhan loved, a meal that probably cost as much as I used to make on a good night, with foo-foo ingredients and fancy preparation. He ordered Siobhan's usual, so I didn't have to pretend like I knew the menu... which was a relief but could also mean that I ate something I did not enjoy. Fortunately, as usual, Shiv and I had similar taste in food, so it was some pasta with a white sauce and salmon that was actually pretty good, though Andrew gave me a weird look when I once again refused wine.

Apparently Siobhan had always said that wine helped her headaches go away. Figures. When I'd known my sister, I'd done the drinking for the both of us. My sister had certainly changed. I guess this first hit me not when I saw her again, or when I saw her house or heard her talk about her perfect life... It hit me when she'd vanished into the ocean, after that, really, when the contents of her purse fell all over the floor, and I looked inside and saw a pack of cigarettes. Siobhan had never smoked in all the years I'd known her, except when we were teenagers and had stolen some from Dad, just to see what it was like. Siobhan had almost immediately pronounced smoking gross and _repellent_. I'd smoked a little while but wasn't really into it, not liking the taste of ashes in my mouth, and ultimately came to agree with her.

After we cleared the plates from the table, we both headed in for the night. Andrew was being quiet, but again, strangely normal. He went off to do something, but I headed into the bathroom to freshen up a bit. I tried to undo the hook of my dress and failed repeatedly. At just the right moment, Andrew came in, fiddling with the bowtie he'd undone before dinner. I thought it rather odd, since he'd only undone one button and hadn't removed his jacket or rolled up his sleeves, but, then again, I didn't know him. "My hook is stuck... do you mind?" I asked, turning towards him. My voice came out a bit raspier than I'd intended.

He stopped, looking a bit surprised, but came over anyway. He turned slowly, taking his sweet time coming over to me. I turned to better accommodate him, sucking in a breath, putting a bracing hand on my ribs. I was actually really nervous, heart beating as frantically as a hummingbird's wings, but I tried not to show it. He reached from a distance, not willing to get close enough to me to make his job easier, even as I bared my back to him. I braced myself for his touch, told myself not to shy away from it, like he was just another something to me. He didn't say anything. The little task took him two and a half seconds of disinterest. His fingers were light on my back, barely even touching the fabric, brushing against my back for the barest of seconds. All I heard was the faint snick of the clasp coming undone. Andrew would never come undone. If I would've blinked, I probably would've missed the whole thing.

Okay, I'll be honest. The clasp thing was totally a ploy to get him close to me, to feel his fingertips brush against my back, to try and glean from it what I could about his relationship with my sister. I wanted to see if he had problems touching my sister, if I somehow repulsed him in some way. I wanted to see if he would take the bait, if this sort of thing was normal for them. In a way, I guess, it was sort of an invitation, an offering, to see if he'd try for more. But, of course, he defied my expectations and didn't do any of that. It was as if a robot had touched me.

He didn't take it as an invitation to unzip the rest of my dress, didn't use it the way he could've to touch my back. He didn't touch me unnecessarily at all and, in fact, seemed to avoid physical contact with me as much as he possibly could. I turned my head to catch a glimpse of his profile, but he didn't meet my gaze, seeming intent on his task. As he began to pull away, I turned back to smile him, but he ignored the gesture. He turned away from me afterwards, saying nothing, though I caught sight of a rather sullen expression on his face. He was frowning a bit, face utterly blank otherwise, deliberately so, probably lost in his thoughts and thousands of miles from me. He didn't seem to even expect a thank-you. I'd assumed he was just tired or bored or something, but it was something more than that, wasn't it?

I blinked dumbly, finding it odd. I'd tested him, bared my back to him, and he'd turned his back on me and done nothing with my little invitation. I didn't care much, didn't feel rejected, but Andrew was the main puzzle piece I needed to figure out to succeed at this for even a day. Was he angry with me? Had I said something wrong? Done something wrong? Had I revealed myself already, and he was just processing it and deciding how to respond? I stared after him for a few moments, turning to face his direction as I took a hesitant step forward. "Everything okay?" I asked carefully, watching him.

I'd gotten real good at watching people, reading their body language for subtle signs, back in my stripper days. It helped me figure out who to hit up and who to avoid, helped me know when to duck and when to run. But Andrew was a blank, a man designed to be impossible to read. He was, after all, a businessman, accustomed to manipulation and hiding his feelings, lying when it suited him. I didn't yet realize how important honesty was to him. Moreover, him being British meant his emotions were even more hidden and locked away under the surface.

He looked up at me, raising his eyebrows, brow wrinkling. He pulled his undone bowtie from his neck, a bland, blank look on his face. "Fine." I didn't really know what he meant by that, but he didn't seem fine. Everything from the way he held himself to his taciturn behavior to his stiff posture indicated the opposite. Looking at him, I noted dimly that he'd undone another button. He looked back down just as quickly after pulling the bowtie from around his collar. He busied his fingers by folding the bowtie in a way that made it clear he needed to keep busy with doing something.

He couldn't even look at me, could barely hold his gaze on me for a few seconds. What had he and Siobhan done to each other? I looked off to the side for a moment, a bit put out by his quick dismissal and contemplating my next move. I was aware it wasn't really my place or my business, but I had to know. I wanted to know more about Siobhan, about her life here and what she'd left behind... and Andrew was the closest I could ever come to any answers on that front. After all, the distance between them notwithstanding, he was still her husband and had to know her more intimately than anyone else here. He was the one who lived with her, who'd married her, who was _hers_ in a way that Henry could never be. That had to mean something, right?

Because I've always been a bit too curious for my own good, I decided to press the subject, rather than just letting it go, as Siobhan would've. Then again, Siobhan probably wouldn't have cared enough to ask in the first place. I moved towards him, not exactly satisfied by this. I let out a little breath as I came closer to the bed. "It's just..." I began, eying him from askance, careful to keep my distance. Like I was afraid of spooking him like a horse. "I thought..." I continued, pursing my lips a little.

He threw the bowtie onto the bed with perhaps a bit more dexterity than was needed. "You thought what?" he asked coolly, turning to face me, a confrontational look to him. He arched his back a little, to make himself seem even taller and make our height difference more pronounced. He did it like he was preparing for war. Even his face suggested that, with brows knitting together, lips drawn together in a thin, stiff line. He was wearing his serious face again, not that he seemed to have any other face. Apparently his way of preparing himself for a battle with my sister was actually a stiff upper lip. He'd begun to shrug off his jacket, puffing out his chest a bit more, holding his chin up high, looking down on me even with his hands behind his back, the very picture of inaccessibility.

I didn't say anything then because I didn't know what to say. I looked away, somewhat daunted. I was also trying really hard not to remember that I knew exactly what he looked like shirtless and had maybe (entirely) enjoyed that sight a bit too much. Andrew was an intimidating man, powerful, successful, intelligent, sharp, and very obviously way out of my league. The mere fact that I was currently sharing a bedroom with him was rather surreal. And I felt, I dunno, a little out of sorts about it because he had everything... class, money, sophistication, a good education, a good head on his shoulders and good life decisions... that I didn't have, and he'd already made me feel stupid many times over.

Also, how do I phrase this? I kind of thought that his behavior at the benefit meant that we'd made up from whatever fight they had. Silly me, I thought they'd just had a fight before the trip because Shiv was upset about her husband leaving for two weeks or something stupid and completely normal like that, a routine marital spat like on the family sitcoms I'd watched growing up. I'd tried to tell myself in probably some fit of delusion because I obviously wanted to think my sister's marriage was rock-solid and everything that they'd just had a fight before Siobhan left, but that things seemed to be getting better. I wanted to think that my sister's marriage was actually somewhat normal. Turns out I was really, really wrong.

I shrugged a little, looking down, taking a half-step towards him. I set my shoulders, fumbling, flailing over words, "I don't know, that we were... cool?" I raised my eyebrows, wiggled my shoulders a little in an awkward shrug, feeling suddenly very silly in this fancy dress and clownish bright red lipstick. I actually kind of cringed internally as I said it because I knew it was the wrong thing to say. Siobhan had always been the one of us with a more sophisticated vocabulary, studying SAT words so she could say things about canapés and caviar without sounding ridiculous. Snagging a man like Andrew had long been her plan.

Though maybe I'd accomplished something Siobhan hadn't because I felt a little wave of joy or the feeling of having done something right, at least, bubbling up inside of me when I saw his lips curve upwards. Andrew actually looked mildly amused. I didn't realize at first that it was a mocking smile. He was in the process of straightening or folding his jacket because, as I've mentioned before, he had a lot of nervous energy that meant he needed to be doing something with his hands to maintain his front. "_Cool_?" he snorted, disbelieving, eyebrows arching upwards with a flicker of genuine amusement. "What are we, _twelve_?" he retorted mockingly. His voice was harsh but the amused look didn't wholly disappear from his face.

I blinked, a bit hurt. I immediately felt all of twelve-years-old, awkward and insecure, like when my dad or mom had said something cruel. He had the role of scolding father so ingrained in him. I didn't notice it then, but he was taking an inordinately long amount of time folding his jacket, like he was nervous or gearing up for a fight we weren't going to have. The amusement disappeared from his face quickly, expression stony once more, tone biting. "Of course we're not cool." He folded his jacket and threw it on the bed carelessly, but, then again, nothing he did was careless. He started to take out his cufflinks and unbutton his sleeves, tension radiating off of him in waves.

Yep, and I am definitely not getting any tonight, I thought, unsure whether or not to be relieved that I didn't have to worry about sexual overtures. He was definitely the great unknown variable in my sister's life. I was starting to wonder what sort of man my sister's husband was. He seemed to perpetually be in a gloomy mood, tone always clipped and unemotional, but yet there was that anomaly of him smiling at me at the benefit like he actually wanted to be around me. I didn't really know what to make of that. I didn't want to think that Shiv had married a complete asshole, but I'd only known him for a day, so what did I really know? He was a really good actor, and my sister had to have been too. And, God, he'd only done that because there were other people around and he had to keep the act up, hadn't he? I realized this with a rapidly mounting horror.

"But..." I moved toward him, until we were about two feet apart. I was surprised at my own boldness, surprised that I felt the need to salvage whatever this was, to believe that he was a good person. It might as well have been an ocean between us. I titled my head to the side, continuing to question, "Tonight at the Gala, you..." Andrew looked up at me then but didn't face me head-on, continuing to undo his cufflink. I held my dress in my hands, trying not to fidget overmuch. I edged toward him a little, some part of my body reaching for his even then. "-seemed so happy," I continued, unable to suppress the hope in my voice. And actually pleasant to be around for once, I thought a bit less kindly. I wanted him to be happy, wanted to think that my sister had once had a happy marriage. Clearly, though, if she had, she'd be around right now, introducing me to her husband. And my sister was very much not here.

He turned abruptly to face me head-on, cufflink heavy in his hands. "Well, that was an act." His brow stayed knit together. His expression was screaming: Why don't you understand that? Why do I need to remind you of this? I looked down shamefully. "This is your _game_, Siobhan. I'm just playing by the rules," Andrew continued pointedly, gesturing a bit with his hands. He transferred the cufflink to the other hand, putting it in his pocket and starting in on the other sleeve. I lurched forward a little, wondering why this statement shook my worldview all of a sudden. I knew things weren't good between them, but marriage wasn't supposed to be like this. I stood there wondering just what the hell that was supposed to mean. What game had he and my sister been playing? What were the rules, and how was I to follow them? It wasn't like he was going to explain them to me.

So, of course, I had to make my own rules. I had to change the rules. I would have to follow his cues and get us to a tolerable place.

I looked down with bated breath, trying to think of my next move, reminding myself why I'd thought this crazy idea was a good plan in the first place. I just need to get through this for a couple days, and I need to make my sister's home and marriage a place in which I feel comfortable in order to do that. I'm no miracle worker, and I'm not trying for anything big or substantial. I just need to... put one foot in front of the other and soldier on until I can get out of his hair. And I can't... obviously be whatever Siobhan was to him. I'm not wired that way, and... if I'm gonna lie anyway, it might as well at least be a pleasant one where I don't have to pretend to be the side of my sister and myself that I wanted to bury and forget. I was turning over a new leaf. I took a deep breath, rocking on my heels a little, and went for it. "What if I don't want to play games anymore?"

Andrew raised his eyebrows and barely glanced at me. He didn't look at me full-on, and he did not take me seriously. "That'll be a first," Andrew muttered sarcastically. His tone struck me as being profoundly cynical. He was busy undoing the other sleeve, too busy doing that to look at me or get what I was saying and trying to do.

I was, however, determined, and I wasn't going to let Andrew's sarcasm get in my way. If I was going to get being Siobhan right, I had to get things with Andrew to a point where I was comfortable. I had to find a version of Siobhan I was comfortable being around him because I was going to be stuck here for maybe a week or so until I got my bearings and figured out a plan. That version of Siobhan would ideally not be a superbitch. I knew full well how my sister froze people out; she was good at it, and Andrew had clearly worked up to her level to match wits this well. I had to distract Andrew with kindness or at least a kind of benign mutual truce or something. Living this lie would be unbearable otherwise.

"I'm serious," I said as I took a big step towards him, meandering a little. It came out sounding like a plea, not at all like I meant it. My voice went a little too high. He looked up at me with a vaguely cross look on his face, eyebrows arched angrily, all serious once more. Something about his face changed, but I didn't know what, something about his eyes, something that suggested he was more open. Somewhere in all of this, we made eye contact, which was the first eye-contact I could ever remember having with him that had lasted for more than a few seconds in silence as he held it. He silently turned a fraction further towards facing me, which was, I guess, a start. At the very least, it was an opening, and I could work with that. I was silent, grasping for words to say, swallowing over my tongue. After a small eternity, I shrugged and offered up a suggestion, "Why can't we just be _nice_ to each other... for real?" I said it with my face fully open, tone genuine, which was probably what raised Andrew's hackles.

Siobhan was an intensely private person, protective of it, very good at concealing her true feelings when it suited her. I was her twin, and I'd still had trouble knowing what she was thinking at any given time. She kept no real council but her own sometimes, like she was afraid to utter her feelings even to me, her other half, lest they become real by speaking them out loud. She'd always been better at compartmentalizing than I had, being the more emotional twin, but the life and the drugs had made me more like her, more cautious and wary, from all the horrible things I'd seen. I'd numbed myself to the pain of my daily existence years ago with the booze and the drugs, and being sober made everything hurt all over again, but I knew how to be something I wasn't, how to lock my feelings away and pretend for men like Andrew who wouldn't question it.

I doubt my sister was ever fully open with him. I bet, even when things were good between them, that there were just certain things she never talked about, like Sean, me, and our childhood, so much of her life Andrew never even got a glimpse of because Siobhan had buried it inside of herself.

His eyes narrowed disbelievingly. I must've sounded so damn naïve to him, like I hadn't been in their marriage for more than a day. Andrew licked his lips, towering over me, moves toward me for the first time since I'd started talking to him. He was frowning, brow furrowed, and he looked kind of tired. His features seemed suddenly angular, everything about him sharp and tensing up, even the faint stubble on his chin. His eyes were dark as the Scotch no doubt stocked in the walk-in bar, that daily temptation, but something in them was searching, lost, spiraling. His voice got lower, darker. His lips were set in a grim sort of expression. All that and it only took him a second to say it. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice more of a whisper than anything else. I felt like Siobhan was talking through him.

Instinctively, I recoiled from him a little bit, stopping myself before it was too noticeable. His question shook me to the bone. My entire body went a bit too still, and I stood there uncomfortably, shoulders tight, blinking up at him. I was rightfully terrified that he'd caught onto me already. Two days. I only made it two days. He was gonna kick me out and realize I was an imposter and-don't jump to conclusions, Bridget. I was trying to keep my breathing steady so my frantic heart didn't beat out of my chest. "What do you mean?" I asked in a similar voice. It was so very incredibly difficult to keep my voice calm and level, but I managed it. I had to. Siobhan's voice was always so smooth, so self-assured, never doubtful, never questioning.

Best not to give myself away too quickly with the reaction. Maybe Andrew didn't know anything at all, after all.

He shook his head, hands flaring out in a gesture, so close to my body. The gaze which it had become increasingly harder to hold dropped down as he took me in. "You're just so... different," he murmured, as if he didn't know what to make of it. His voice was softer, with something lighter in it, his expression more calm and less stormy. There was something almost pleasant about him. He gave me a once-over, and then it was like he was unable to take his eyes off me, examining me, searching me in every way. It made me squirm. All of that still didn't make me feel better. I was still holding my breath a little, completely frozen, waiting for him to realize that everything was different about me.

Then Andrew looked down, an almost fond look on his face. I could still feel his eyes on me. His eyes and whole face seemed more open, and I didn't know what to make of that, but I liked it. There was something else, like the whole thing worried him a bit. "Just relaxed and agreeable..." he continued, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. I thought he looked a bit more at ease. But all of it made me wonder... How did my sister act around him then? Tense and disagreeable? Always willing to fight him over the littlest things? And did Andrew like that, or did he just tolerate it?

Taking what I could get from it, one of the few positive moments in my entire interaction with the man, I smiled a little and leaned in, allowing my shoulders to relax. I seized on it, tilting my head just the littlest bit to the side. "And you don't like it?" I pressed, trying to figure out what he did want. I could give Andrew what he wanted as long as I knew what that was. I'd always been great at customer service, after all. In some ways the whole thing was laughable, because I was sure that Siobhan, upon actually knowing all that I'd done, would've wanted me to meet Andrew even less, and here I was, pretending to be her.

He shook his head a little again and said, quiet suddenly, "No." I blinked, horrified and worried and... confused but quickly figuring that if screaming and shouting matches and silence was Andrew's thing, then I could throw the requisite amount of hissy fits. I moved my head back a little, tentative smile completely disappearing. Well, great, I thought sarcastically; then what can I do? He wants the old Siobhan back, and I'm going to significantly up my stress level to do that. And I would've obviously preferred it to be harmonious, kind of like an extended GFE rather than some weird dominatrix-I-love-the-way-you-lie-awkward-semi-abusive-scenario. Not that I had taken Andrew for that sort of man upon first looking at him, but maybe he was a fireworks and aggression kind of guy, the kind who liked to be pushed around and push back. I could do that too.

I was still panicked and desperate to convince him I was Siobhan. After all, my life was on the line, and if he found me out, I didn't know what I'd do to convince him. If he'd pressed me just a bit harder, there was no telling what I might've done. I might've confessed to him the whole sordid truth or simply fled or changed the subject or... done something even more desperate and probably ill-advised that might've revealed me anyway.

He was looking down, shaking his head a little, and then he looked back up at me, meeting my stare. He cocked his head a little, facing me, leaning in. A dimple started to form, and he moved his right hand in gesture. "I _love_ it," he declared in a voice so warm I could scarcely believe my ears. Was that his version of enthusiasm? His face seemed smoother, like some of the tension had seeped out of him. I exhaled, relieved, and smiled weakly, starting to feel a bit hopeful that maybe this was fixable. Apparently I'd done something right then. That feeling lasted all of two seconds.

I was sure my smile didn't meet my eyes, and I was uncomfortable under his stare, but I was proud that I had caused such a reaction in him. Said smile began to fall a fraction fairly fast. He was staring at her intently, jaw tensing up. He was eying me, searching for something I couldn't give him. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he stood out in a stark contrast of whites and blacks, light and dark. I noticed how he rarely faced me face-to-face or head-on but quite often talked to me from the side, profile, or with his back turned, like even his body was avoiding me and looking at me, curling up in some self-defense motion. "I just don't believe it," he pronounced decisively, getting the final word.

He stared at me after that with the same somewhat angry, searching look with furrowed brow, before moving away to take off his clothes in the closet. He pursed his lips a bit and set his jaw, watching and waiting. My smile disappeared entirely. I held his stare, uncertain for a few moments, just breathing and staring up into his eyes, watching him back away. My eyes caught briefly on the strong line of his jaw. Ultimately, though, I had nothing to say to that.

My gaze fell to the floor, and then I looked after him, eying his retreating back and searching for answers. My hands came up over my stomach, and I laced my fingers together over my stomach uncertainly. Later on I would remember that moment and think it ironic, a parody of what was to come. I would think that Siobhan's hands might've done the same thing, fingers crossing over the baby she was supposed to have with him as if protecting it from its father's anger and confusion, warding the bad feelings away.

Ultimately, however, I was left with this question: How did things get so bad between them?

I sighed and headed to the closet, carelessly unzipping the dress the rest of the way as I went. I felt a bit more like I could breathe, which was good. I sat down heavily on the bench and set about removing the heavy earrings I was wearing, nearly throwing them in my haste to be rid of them. Siobhan probably hadn't worn these earrings in years either. She probably thought they were childish and unbefitting of her fabulous new life. Looking at myself in one of the mirrors, I suddenly felt twelve-years-old all over again, wishing I was pretty and perfectly graceful like Siobhan. I was far too old to be playing dress-up, and the whore I was would never pass for my refined older sister.

Andrew had already seen right through me, and I gave it another day at the most before he gave me my walking papers. I'd be lucky if he didn't call the cops straight off the bat. I reached down, undoing my shoes and kicking the beautiful gold shoes off my feet with a violence Siobhan didn't possess. The shoes hit some part of the closet wall unit, knocking loudly against it, but I was too tired and mad at myself to pick them up. My sister's shoes were beautiful, but I didn't want to walk around in them, much less forever.

I began to take the pins out of my hair, satisfyingly yanking out handfuls of pins, messing up the hair I'd had to fix after Henry, that stranger, had forced his lips on mine. You know, for a really long second there, I didn't think I was gonna get away from him. His grip was so damn strong, like he never wanted to let me go. So different from Andrew, to whom every little touch was suspicious. He touched his wife only in public to make nice for everyone else. My sister's life was all kinds of screwed up I was only beginning to realize. I buried a hand in my hair, shaking my head. What was I thinking, trying to make things better with Andrew? I should've just played along and stayed under his radar, not been around much for him to look at or wonder about or snipe at. God, I couldn't even pretend to be my twin sister right!

It was just one more damn thing I couldn't do right because the only things I can do right are things you can't do in polite company, talents like taking my clothes off and twirling around a pole and all kinds of bedroom skills that would probably blow both Andrew and Henry's sheltered little minds, that is, if they were the _only_ men my sister was sleeping with. I wouldn't put it past Siobhan to have a few more dirty little secrets hidden away, after all.

Andrew joined me a few moments later, hanging up his tie and jacket. I didn't turn around, uncertain of where I stood with him. Was he still angry with me or... what? "Why did you wear that dress tonight? You haven't worn it since our second anniversary," he interjected quietly, clearly curious. I turned around to look at him, catching the serious look on his face and that he was unbuttoning his shirt. I looked away just as quickly, eyes burning. He was my sister's _husband_. She obviously loved him at one point in order to marry him, and I can only assume he must've loved Shiv too, even if I can't tell, because why else would he marry her? I shouldn't look at him, especially not when he was taking his clothes off. I shrugged, trying to be flip and wondering why he looked so serious about a random piece of clothing.

I kept removing the pins from my hair. "It was calling out to me... I figured why not?" At that point, I figured I'd said pretty much about every single wrong thing I could, so what more did I have to lose, really? The truth was that, unlike my sister, I like bright colors, and I wanted to wear a dress like that because the last time I wore a dress like that was in high school, for prom, and even that was something I got off the clearance rack. Girls like me don't get to wear dresses like that. I wanted to wear red? How many excuses do you need, Andrew? My hair fell out around my shoulders in waves, and I shook it out, wondering how Siobhan wore her hair up so often without feeling pinched. Then again, maybe that was why she'd always been the more uptight one of us two, or maybe it was just that she'd always had more responsibilities and didn't turn to partying and substance abuse to stop her worries.

I glanced up briefly at Andrew, just his face, to see that something in his expression had softened a little... substantially, actually. I blinked, sure I was imagining things. I mean, I was starting to think that when he inevitably found me out and asked who I was, probably tomorrow, I would tell him the whole sordid story, ask for enough money to get away, not a lot, maybe a couple thousand, and then I'd split and never see him again. I kept watching his face for a sign. "You really are serious about this then, aren't you?" he asked disbelievingly. I nodded, uncertain as to what he meant. "About being nice to one another. That's why you wore the dress, isn't it?" he continued. Oh, I thought, wondering why he'd ridiculed me earlier for suggesting that. And why did he always look so severe, so serious, even when he was apparently making an attempt to reach out?

I nodded dumbly, wondering what the dress meant to him. He was making such a big deal out of it that I figured it had to be _something_. Something special. Not that I was going to question it if my wearing it had made him decide to be nice to me all of a sudden. "You wore that dress the first time we..." Andrew trailed off, turning a bit red, and I realized like a bolt of lightning what he meant and smiled gently, rather bemused. Siobhan keeping the dress, even though it was probably out of style, had to be for sentimental reasons, right? I caught his eye, wanting to make him say it, but he realized what I was trying to do and scowled a little.

And there was the special memory, him peeling it off of my body (or, rather, Siobhan's), and Siobhan had probably asked him to help her with her clasp too, and maybe she'd repeated that on anniversaries... so why hadn't he responded if such an overture presumably existed? Was he withholding sex from his wife for some reason or another? Did **men** even do that? I wondered idly if he knew about the affair. If I was a man like Andrew with a wife like Shiv or myself, I'd be watching her all the time. For some reason, I kind of doubted Andrew would have to dig deep to discover evidence of the affair, given Henry's complete lack of subtlety (and what a effing _cliché_ it was, too! The best friend's husband? I mean, _really_, Siobhan! You couldn't have gone for the doorman or pool boy or security guard?) so he either knew, suspected but didn't actually want to know, didn't give a damn, or had some sort of arrangement with my sister and was probably getting some on the side.

"I remember," I said knowingly, giving him a onceover. Sometimes I hated how naturally it came, playing a part, playing a role, playing the perfect little tramp. But I was scared and didn't have any other options. All there was for me was stepping into my sister's borrowed shoes and then making a run for it and starting over. Andrew just stared at me like I was some sort of alien, shaking his head, but he was smiling a little to himself when he turned away. And I felt like, I don't know, I'd greased the Tin Man's joints so he could smile. I also smiled, reassured, cheeks flushing when I realized I was staring at his bared back, those broad shoulders, a bit too intently.

I turned away, reminding myself for the hundredth time why it was wrong to be attracted to my sister's husband. 1. He was Siobhan's, forever off-limits to me. 2. No doing a guy my sister's dumped because that's creepy, and generally doesn't end well for anyone. 3. My sister had just... and he didn't even know. 4. He was my brother-in-law, my brother-in-law who didn't even know about my existence. 5. It didn't seem like he was that fond of Siobhan, period. 6. He was out of my league. 7. I had no right. 8. I had a million more important life-and-death matters to worry about. 9. I did not have the time or desire to complicate things further. 10. He would never actually want _me._ Not if he knew who I really was and what I was.

Still, I tried and failed to suppress a smile as I stepped out of my dress, finding a nightgown and very aware of my state of undress in the room with him. I tried not to think about how easy it would be for him to watch me in one of the closet's many mirrors and pulled the chemise over my head. It was amusing to think that this tiny insignificant gesture of choosing something to wear had softened him. It must've been the one right decision I'd made all night.

I twisted the rings off of my fingers and put away the hairpins, hanging up the dress and making sure to put everything back in its proper place. Siobhan had always been a neat freak too, come to think of it. I went to the bathroom to remove my make-up and get ready for bed. Andrew joined me very briefly, just long enough to brush his teeth and wash his hands. As before, we didn't speak.

When I came out of the bathroom, I noticed that Andrew was sitting down reading something halfway across the room. He probably didn't want to be disturbed, so I just shrugged and figured I was better off not saying anything. Andrew couldn't have an issue with anything I said if I didn't say anything, after all. I sat down on the bed and grabbed the bottle of fancy lotion Siobhan would've used every night before slumber, opening it and beginning to rub the lotion into my skin. Andrew didn't look up at me once, even when I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. When I came back, I slipped under the covers and reached over to turn my light out. But as I did, I hesitated; Andrew was still illuminated. "Are you coming to bed?" I asked, more out of courtesy than anything else.

Andrew looked up, unable to mask the expression of surprise on his face. For a moment he just stared at me, and I settled into my pillow, though not before reaching over to turn down his side of the bed. Then, surprisingly, Andrew set his book down and stood, nodding slowly. He turned the light off and walked over as if in a daze, quietly slipping under the covers next to me. I think I murmured a goodnight, shifting in the bed to be a bit more comfortable.

I was just starting to drift a little when his voice broke the heavy silence that hung between us. "About what you said earlier..." he began expectantly I turned a little to look at him. Andrew was staring at the ceiling, very pointedly not looking at me. "If you meant what you said, then... I could do that." I blinked, looking over at Andrew in amazement. Did he actually just say that? Did he just make that offer like he didn't pretty much laugh at me for suggesting it? "Obviously neither of us are happy with the way things are between us... and I think that we'd both be more comfortable if this was more of a marriage than it is," Andrew continued with a quiet intensity, jaw tight.

You've got yourself a deal, brother, I thought. "I meant it." I relaxed a little bit more, though I wondered what he thought their marriage was if not a marriage. Of course I knew it wasn't a normal marriage, but was it really the sort of arrangement he'd presented? And if things were as bad as I suspected they were, why did they continue to live like this? Or, I should say, why had Andrew chosen to continue living like this, acting like a stranger in his own home? My sister had chosen to stop living. "I'm just... tired of fighting you, Andrew. Being nice to each other is just so much eas-better," I replied wearily as my eyes ran over his profile.

I meant it, too; fighting him had worn me down, down to my bones. Andrew had gotten to me today in a way that no one had in a very long time. No one except Siobhan. And, in a way, as much as I feared him knowing my true identity, I would've been relieved to confess everything to him, to not have to pretend any longer. But Andrew didn't press further, so I kept my mouth shut for safety like the coward I am. That was the first of many moments in which I could've and probably should've told him, and a source of bittersweet, pained regret for the rest of my life as Siobhan.

His lips twitched into a tight smile. "It _will_ be better," Andrew said with a grim determination. The way in which he said it, stiff and tightly, made me think he wasn't as sure as he sounded. I made some sound, assenting, nodding just enough so that he could see me from the corner of his eye. Then I rolled over onto my side, away from him, fingers kissing the edge of the bed. I murmured a sleepy goodnight, exhausted from the effort of pretending to be someone I was not. I was, however, relieved that things were going to change, happy he wasn't going to be jumping down my throat all the time.

Andrew was still staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, still but far from asleep, no doubt deep in thought and wondering what he'd just agreed to. At the time I didn't know either.

And thus began our life together, awash in darkness and confusion and things left unsaid that hung between us, secrets, and feelings we couldn't name.


	4. An Immaculate Deception

I wrote this chapter in more or less three days, so I apologize if it's not that polished or awesome or anything (I also feel like this chapter is very different from the previous two, like Bridget has a bit more distance, but whatever), but I wanted to post something and get closer to being able to post on a somewhat regular basis, so... I was initially reluctant about writing this chapter, since I've already done this scene several times, but yet I felt compelled to give it a go nonetheless. I'm still hoping some real version of this is done in a deleted scene that I get to watch someday (and I will feel incredibly cheated if I don't get to), but here's my shot at it, at a version as realistic as I can imagine. Anyway, this chapter owes a great debt to that picture of Andrew and Bridget side-by-side leaning against a piece of furniture, no doubt talking about this, since they're in the same clothes. Because, well, what else did I have to go on?

Also, this story might bash Henry a little bit, especially at first, but that's largely because Bridget has had about three really awkward interactions with him, and, putting myself in B's shoes, I'd be more freaked out by Henry's stalkerish all-up-in-your-business ways than Andrew's live-and-let-live policy. Also, Henry is a giant, and I need him for some comedic relief. Just sayin'. Bridget does get nicer to him later on, I promise, when/if I care enough to write a scene about him in one of the rare moments when I decide I like Henry.

Anyway, we've finally rounded out episode one here, and the next chapter will, I think, be that first scene in episode two and a bit of Bridget adjusting to living with Andrew, probably her also being freaked out from, you know, killing that dude. So, once I've written that, the sailing gets a wee bit smoother and updates more frequent, and I like to think it gets exciting and tensiony. Anyway, hope you enjoy and please, please review 'cause, mind you, I've been writing this story instead of doing things I should be doing, and I am a busy woman. Or, if you don't review, at least write a Ringer fic, yeah? 'Cause I'd like to see more of them.

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><p>If I thought things were bad when I found out when I found out that Siobhan's marriage was a sham, or that she was sleeping with her best friend's husband, I really didn't know what I was in for when I got that doctor's call. It was like a perfect storm of crap piling upon me. And I didn't know how I could stand it, much less how Siobhan had coped with such insanity for so long.<p>

Pregnancy had terrified me for most of my adult life. And I'm not gonna lie; I don't know the first thing about being a mother or being pregnant. All I know is what I gleamed from being there, holding Shiv's hand, and the things some of the other girls would tell me about their kids. All I know is being scared to death of getting pregnant, of having a baby, terrified of the ways something like that could completely change my life overnight.

And I won't pretend it was unselfish of me. It was completely selfish. I didn't want to have to change my life because of this little alien parasite inside of me. I didn't want to have to do a full one-eighty on my lifestyle. I didn't want to get my act together and pull it together for the kid's sake. I didn't want to have to deal with being a single mom and not knowing who the father was but knowing he wasn't a winner, and that the kid I'd have would be half-mine and half some rando sperm donor's. I didn't want to deal with the mess, the complications, the time off work living hand-to-mouth. I didn't want to give up the heroin or the alcohol or any of it.

I mean, sure, I would've been a terrible mother. If I could even carry a kid to term in my state, what with me being skinny and addicted, forgetting to eat and drinking as much as I did every day. I knew that. I knew I had nothing to offer a kid as a broke, drug-addicted alcoholic stripper whore who'd messed around with the wrong people. I couldn't offer a kid safety or stability or material comforts or the life a kid deserved. I couldn't even offer a kid the chance to develop in a decent environment, not even inside of me. And what was my _love_ really worth anyway? Twenty bucks, maybe fifty?

So I did what was best for any kid, and I used protection and made sure to take a little white pill every day. I kind of accepted that I wasn't meant for kids and they weren't meant for me after what happened with Sean. I didn't deserve them, and no kid deserved a dysfunctional, completely screwed-up mother like me. I wasn't vain enough to multiply to suit my own selfish ends and propagate my terribly fried, damaged genes. That was the most love and affection I could show for a child, not wishing to inflict me upon them. I at least loved my little, lonely eggs, desperate and straining to split and multiply and grow into the many little children I wasn't meant to have.

It's sad, too, because I was always the one of us who really wanted to be a Mommy. I always kind of had this inexplicable need to nurture others, to care for sick and wounded animals, to play with younger kids and stick up for the underdogs. I've wanted to make others feel good my entire life, to make myself feel like I had a purpose and that other people needed me. Rather than making myself need and depend on them.

When I was little, I would play baby dolls all the time, and Siobhan would give me hers, calling me the "nanny." I was also the tomboy who played with the neighborhood boys, climbing trees, playing cards, and playing soccer and tackle-football in the mud. She opted instead for tea sets and Barbies, with their grown-up lives and ambitions, perfect hair, perfect clothes, and perfect boyfriend. Sometimes I would even try and play house and make Siobhan my baby, but Shiv always refused, insisting that she got to be the boss of me since she was the older sister.

Siobhan had never wanted motherhood. I highly doubt looking after me our entire lives helped that desire grow. It was more of something that had found her, something she'd ultimately decided was worth it because children softened her colder, more reserved heart with their wonderment at the world and unconditional love. She'd been so good with Sean, a real mom, not like me, the fair-weathered fun aunt... even though I spent more time with Sean than she ever did, except when he was inside her belly. She changed after she lost him, kind of went unhinged, and I had some idea that he was at least part of the reason why she and Andrew had never had children. I guess Siobhan was afraid to replace him, afraid to lose another child.

Or maybe she just hadn't wanted to go through that again, much less have Andrew's child. Either way, I found out sooner than I thought when Siobhan's doctor called me. The alarm bells started to go off in my head pretty much immediately, especially since he wasn't anywhere in her book. It was like my sister felt she had to keep the appointment secret, even from herself. Like she was afraid someone else would see. He said some stuff about positive bloodwork, never a good thing in my books, and I was trying really hard not to have a coronary, imagining the unpleasant conversations I would have to have with Andrew and Henry about potentially giving the both of them STDs. It would be unpleasant, especially on Andrew's end, but I'd had worse conversations, and, hell, I could just leave it in a note, right? P.S. Get tested or something like that.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, Dr. Marx told me that Siobhan had been pregnant, almost four weeks along. You could've knocked me over with a feather. It was actually a miracle my knees didn't buckle as I was awash in questions. Had my sister known? Did she have any idea? Is that why she...? I wondered how Shiv would've felt to hear that, if she would've freaked out or what. I didn't have time to process the sense of loss I felt, hearing that Siobhan's child, my niece or nephew, had died with her. "I... I'm pregnant?" I choked out, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me. And then, just as I'd learned this bombshell about my sister (seriously, is that why she killed herself?), I heard a floorboard creak and turned around to see Andrew standing there, hands in his pockets, eyes wide, looking as if he'd seen a ghost. He was mid-step even, but he'd completely frozen in shock like some sort of statue.

I couldn't blame him. That was not supposed to happen. He was not supposed to overhear that phone call, and I'm an idiot... and that's not how a man is supposed to find out he was going to be a father. But he wasn't. I hated this, the not-having-time-to-think-or-find-my-bearings-thing that was continuously happening to me every day I pretended to be Siobhan. Even an ex-addict gets tired of thinking on her feet, being ready to bolt at any moment. Which was _all_ I wanted to do right then. Andrew swallowed hard as I made up some excuse to tell the doctor to get off the phone, gradually turning to face him. "Did I hear that right, Siobhan?" Andrew said after a while, eyes dropping to my stomach. "Are you...?" he began, motioning to my stomach.

I nodded anxiously, whole body stiff and tight. "-Pregnant?" I interjected, finishing his sentence. There it was, the moment of truth. I looked into his eyes from halfway across the room, reading the shocked look in them, the tension in his frozen body, but not getting a read on his emotions at all. But when I looked into his eyes, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't think up a single lie to counter it, couldn't watch that unguarded expression disappear from his face to be replaced with disappointment. "Yeah. He said I'm about four weeks along."

And there it was, that first hole I had to dig my way out of. Ultimately, though, I decided it would be easier to fake a miscarriage or explain that the results were wrong rather than to deny what I'd just said. Andrew was frozen, but I started to explain so he wouldn't question me more. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that pregnancy was a good excuse to explain the differences between myself and Siobhan. She had actually been more serene during her pregnancy, but, then again, Siobhan had been a different woman then. I took a few steps towards him. "I went to the doctor a week ago... I was having trouble keeping food down, feeling emotional... My breasts were tender, you know..." I rambled, shrugging a little and making various nervous hand gestures. After all, I knew more about a pregnant Siobhan than he did.

Andrew raised his brows, unable to wipe the curious look from his face. Okay, I'll admit that I partially said that to make him feel awkward and distract him, and that I totally noticed how his eyes shot right to my very covered breasts. Andrew looked away after a moment and motioned towards one of the couches, a vaguely nervous expression on his face. "And... how do _you_ feel about this, Shiv?" he began delicately, leaning against the back of the sofa. I did the same, putting my hands down and pushing myself up to sit on it, balancing precariously on the edge. I frowned at him, uncertain of what to say other than that I'd just made a huge mistake and needed to find a way to extricate myself from this situation as soon as humanly possible.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his chest. There were at least six inches between us, not exactly a typical position for a husband and wife after she'd just told him she was pregnant. Our heads were more or less level so that I could look directly into his eyes without having to move my head. "You were very clear and really very set on not having children. We've always been very careful to use protection..." Andrew said quite bluntly. I tried not to wince. There was an underlying tightness in his voice that suggested it irritated him. It would, though, I guess. I suppose, though, that it meant my sister was being safe? Not safe enough, apparently, but still. His lips were in a tiny line, his forehead already wrinkling.

I looked away, embarrassed. I kind of wanted to stick my fingers in my ears and un-hear everything he was saying. There were certain things I did not want to know about my sister. "I mean, the last time we were in this position, you nearly had a panic attack and accused me of poking holes in condoms and replacing your birth control pills with aspirin," he continued with a dry, rather bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You said I was trying to trap you." I whipped around to face him so fast I nearly fell off the couch. Had Shiv been pregnant with his child before? There had been another time... what had happened? The dour look on Andrew's face answered my question; it had just been a scare, then. And wow, it could not be clearer that this was an unplanned pregnancy. Andrew moved towards me a little, his expression cautious, his shoulder almost touching mine. "So..." he began, taking a deep breath, "what do you want to do, Shiv?"

I froze, unable to think, unable to react. I'd never been in this position before, not really. I'd had a few scares; what woman hadn't? But I had never actually been pregnant to my knowledge. I was far too careful for that, so careful that Siobhan wouldn't believe it. You have to be when you're a stripper who's turning tricks on the side. Can't afford to lose your livelihood. I shrugged a little, not sure how to feel. "What do _you_ think, Andrew?" I asked slowly, watching him. He'd said nothing about his own feelings on the subject, just a lot of things about how my sister didn't want kids... and it seemed a bit like he'd taken it personally. I just wanted to know if he was happy about this... or not.

But why wouldn't he be, right? They were married, after all. He already had a child. He wasn't going to leave her overnight, not like Dylan. Andrew was ready, well-off, seemingly well-adjusted, perfectly ready to be a father again. What objections could he have, regardless of how bad things were between the two of them?

Andrew's eyes widened a bit, and he tilted his head to look at me more closely. His jaw tightened, but when he saw that I was serious, he opened his mouth and began to speak. "_I_ always wanted more children. Of course I'm... happy, but I'm not going to force your hand," he told me quietly, cautiously, not daring to get excited about it. He faltered a bit, said it in a strange sort of halting voice that wasn't quite hopeful. Andrew shrugged nearly imperceptibly, turning towards me. "This is your choice, Siobhan. It's all up to you. Do what you want. I'll be here for you either way," he said firmly, unfolding his arms and putting a hand lightly on my arm. The look in his eyes was hard and inscrutable.

I looked at it and then back up at his face, blinking disbelievingly. He hadn't demanded anything, hadn't tried to push me or emotionally blackmail me. A man had never given me a choice in my life, so it was strange. Something about the whole thing wasn't quite sitting right with me since it was all so abnormal, but I didn't know him well enough to put my finger on it. Andrew sighed, staring ahead in thought, arms crossed once more. "I know it isn't something we planned for... The timing's not the greatest, and it would require a big adjustment to the way we live our lives. It could... change everything," he murmured. I blinked. Was he trying to convince me not to do it? Did he _not_ actually want a baby?

Andrew inhaled deeply, pursing his lips and turning to look at me, attempting a smile. "But it could also make things a lot better and make the both of us really happy. But if things are going to continue the way they were..." He sounded a little dreamy there for a second. Andrew trailed off, giving me a look and then looking away quickly, guiltily, as I would later realize. I caught his eye out of the corner of mine and knew what he'd left unsaid: then maybe we'd be better off not having children. Andrew uncrossed his arms, taking another deep breath, pressing his palms against his thighs and leaning forward a bit. "I'd love to have another child running around the house, but, if you don't, then... that's fine too," Andrew said calmly, oh-so blandly. Did any of this actually matter to him? He smiled at me almost sweetly but looked a bit sick doing it.

I was trying to puzzle out just what all of this meant and how he really felt. He did seem to genuinely want more children and... why was I thinking about this? I could **not** give him a child. I am not a miracle worker or an incubator. My sister was in the ocean with her baby, _dead_, and Andrew would never get to know either of them. It didn't matter what I said; either way, the outcome was the same, and it would've been better for me to just kill any potential excitement on his part right away so that it didn't hurt worse for him when I was gone and nothing of his wife remained except bitter, unsatisfying memories and an empty space in the bed.

And this was just one of _many_ points during this conversation where I realized how in over my head I was. I'm not talking about the good kind of feeling or about feeling like I was drowning. I literally felt like I was being buried alive by all the lies, just one thing piling upon another and another until I couldn't see anymore. It was like with every word I said, I was just managing to dig an even bigger hole for myself than the one for coffin I already had to dig myself out of... and sooner or later, I was going to wind up in a bottomless pit with no way out or light at the end of the tunnel.

But, like, really, what could I say? Oh, no, sorry, Andrew, I'm going to callously abort the baby that may possibly be yours but likely is Henry's, you know, my supposed best friend's husband? For no other reason than that I don't want to have children because I don't. Sah-rry, but I'm not, really. I'm not Siobhan, and I couldn't do that.

Since it didn't really matter in the long-run, I figured I'd tell him what he wanted to hear, whatever was least likely to offend him. I looked down at the floor, bringing my hands into my lap and looking at the wood as if it would feed me the right words to say. It had certainly witnessed more interactions between Andrew and Siobhan than I had. "I... know I didn't want to try for children, but that was just because I was scared," I told him finally, bringing my head up and over to look at him. I laced my fingers together, glancing away and biting my lip. "I didn't think I could do it... I never thought I would be good enough, what with the way it was with my parents." Given the expression on Andrew's face, I guessed Siobhan hadn't really mentioned them either; she'd just erased her entire past and family by sheer will alone. No one comes from nothing. How had Andrew never wondered or questioned that?

As I said it, I realized that it was actually true and the main reason why I'd never taken it in my head to get knocked up. I never thought I deserved children or happiness, not after Sean and how I'd carelessly ruined all that. I also knew, almost instantaneously, that Siobhan never would've said that, never would've been so vulnerable to admit that to him or anyone. She would never admit being unable to do something; she would never have been not good enough, not like me.

I had to swallow over the lump in my throat as I forced myself to look at him across the divide. I saw a kind of sympathy in Andrew's eyes, like he wanted to reach out for me and comfort me somehow but didn't know how. Apparently something I'd said had resonated with him. I sensed that he was going to say something, but I kept talking, not wanting to hear what he had to say, to listen to him trying to soothe my insecurities. I didn't deserve his comfort. I shrugged helplessly, hating myself a little bit more as I placed my hand on my stomach and pretended I didn't notice Andrew's gaze drop almost... longingly... to my abdomen, like he wanted to touch it but was forbidden. I took a deep breath, briefly closing my eyes and willing myself to have the strength to do this. "But, now that I'm actually pregnant, well... it changes _everything_," I said, stroking my empty belly as if it were full.

People used to say Siobhan and I should've become actresses, that we'd both missed out on lucrative careers in Hollywood, just a few hours away by car. They didn't realize we were good actresses out of necessity. As if on cue, I glanced up, throwing my hair over my shoulder, and met his stare, strangely warm and intent. I thought of Siobhan, how she'd decided she was going to have the baby, despite everything, and I thought of the words she'd said. "I know it seems insane, but I want him, Bridge," she'd said. I smiled a little, thinking back to that day, to the happy and terrified tears in her eyes, back before my sister had hardened like the pretty white marble in the lobby and the elevator. "I know it's only been a few minutes, but I... want it. I can't imagine my life without him," I told him in a shaky voice, looking up at him through wet, slightly blurry eyes.

Siobhan had said that, almost those very words. She'd said she already couldn't imagine her life without him, that she knew it was going to be hard and scary, but that it would be worth it. I'd put my hand on her stomach and told her that she and the baby had me too, for anything they needed. I told her I would do anything for the both of them, and I meant it. Siobhan had given me a beatific smile, looking as serene, beautiful, and full of grace as the Virgin Mary. Not that Siobhan would've appreciated the analogy. There was, however, something in her eyes that doubted me, something a little patronizing and almost pitying. But I had. I'd done anything for them until... that day when I ruined everything.

I crossed both hands over my abdomen, left hand over right. The rings caught and reflected the light in a little rainbow, and I gazed up at him timidly, praying I hadn't said the wrong thing. I was hesitant to look at him fully, afraid of what I'd find there. I was pleasantly surprised to watch a pleased smile spread gradually across his face. Then he reached out, taking one of my hands, and lightly squeezed it. "I'm very glad to hear that, Shiv," he said softly, pushing off from the couch and rising into a fully standing position. I did my best to smile back as Andrew stared down at me, smile widening into a grin as it hit him. In his excitement, he pulled me toward him inadvertently. "Then, I... guess we're going to have a baby!" he proclaimed enthusiastically, pulling me up into a standing position.

He didn't quite beam, his reaction a bit more sedate than that, but I could feel some sort of joy and enthusiasm radiating from his being. I tried to match his expression but couldn't quite conjure up that level of joy, probably not even if I was actually pregnant. "We're gonna have a baby!" I repeated dumbly, trying to act like I felt anything at all besides wanting to throw up from the guilt of it all. I was watching Andrew very, very carefully to see if he saw through me but trying to do so in a way that he wouldn't notice or find odd, so it was weird that I missed the way he put his other hand on my shoulder and leaned down, bringing his mouth to mine. He paused a moment, mere inches from my lips, smile gradually dying, scanning my eyes for the answer to a question he didn't vocalize.

And then he leaned in the rest of the way, pressing his lips against mine. His mouth was soft and yielding, lips dry but smooth, the pressure of his lips light but just firm enough, brief enough to be sweet. His lips didn't linger on mine too long; it was more of a peck than the hot and handsy make-out session telling your husband he's going to be a father probably should be. At the time, however, I chalked it up to Andrew being British and emotionally stunted and repressed and not particularly demonstrative or passionate. I didn't know him at all then, hadn't gotten past those ten layers stacked one upon the other like sediment or sarcophagi to his heart.

I closed my eyes the second his lips touched mine, trying to match him move for move but not to escalate anything. As he kissed me, his hand came down to rest against my flat stomach, searching for a swell that wasn't there, even when I arched my back a little. I was fine now; Siobhan couldn't be expected to show for months. I knew from my experience that Siobhan was tiny when she was pregnant; you couldn't tell looking from behind that she was pregnant, and Siobhan liked to wear rather large clothes sometimes, obscuring it further. Nonetheless, I froze when he pressed the length of his hand against the thin cotton blouse I was wearing, able to feel the heat of his hand through my skin.

Andrew mistook my sudden lack of response for something else entirely and pulled away, the light in his eyes dimming a little. I felt bad, but I couldn't very well throw his hand off my stomach like I wanted to. I smiled back at him awkwardly, wondering where we went from here. I was about to ask if we could postpone telling people for a couple months since I'd heard somewhere that you weren't supposed to tell people until you were through the first trimester, probably to avoid a painful and awkward conversation in case of a miscarriage... which were most common in the first trimester and decreased every day after it, but Andrew spoke before I could, giving me a kind of skeptical look. "You sure this is what you want to do, Siobhan?" he asked, holding me at arms' length, staring me down solidly.

I blinked and nodded dumbly, forcing a smile. Andrew didn't exactly look wholly relieved or convinced, but he cleared his throat nervously, eyes crinkling at the corners like he was maybe happy about it. "This could be good for us, yeah?" Andrew asked, almost as an afterthought, dark eyes searching. I heard a strain of uncertainty in his voice, a sense that this could go one of two ways, which left me both confused and simultaneously relieved. I didn't understand Andrew, and I didn't expect to any time soon, especially with the way he shut me out, always so cautious and suspicious of my sister.

I nodded slowly, holding my breath and giving him a slight smile, meeting his gaze. "Yeah, I think it could be." Andrew smiled back gently, and I let out a breath, somewhat relieved. He didn't take move toward me like he could've or should've, didn't show any support, just stood back and smiled distantly. Something about him seemed... not quite removed from the situation, like he was reserving hope or expectations until I gave him a reason to believe me. I couldn't exactly blame him.

"Well, then, I think we should tell Juliet, don't you?" he suggested, raising his brows as if that was that. I blinked even more dumbly but couldn't think up a credible reason why we shouldn't tell Juliet I was going to be giving her a brother or a sister other than the obvious, so I was forced to follow Andrew to Juliet's bedroom. He didn't take my hand, as he should've, which left me a bit miffed.

Hopefully this time I wouldn't walk in on her in the middle of doing a guy. Also, using my sister's scarf as a blindfold... kinda kinky for a sixteen-year-old, but, then again, she was at boarding school... Sex is practically a currency in boarding school, right?

Needless to say the conversation did not go well. Juliet made it very clear that she was _not_ excited or happy and did **not** want a little brother or sister, especially one that was part me, and she told me where I could shove my baby. She didn't want to have to share her father's attention and accused me of getting pregnant so that we could ship her off again and "replace" her with the new baby, becoming increasingly more emotional and vindictive. She also asked Andrew flat-out if he was sure the baby was his (I about passed out, especially since Andrew looked understandably less than one hundred percent certain), insinuated that I did all kinds of guys when he wasn't around, and said just about every nasty and selfish thing you can imagine. Naturally, this was a conversation I preferred to forget and pretend had never happened.

My impression of her was not particularly improving, but she reminded me of a much sassier, nastier version of myself... which I found rather ironic since it meant that she was like the woman she so hated, only a bit cheaper and crasser. If I told you what she really said, I'd have to bleep it out because I'd heard better language from the truck drivers who used to frequent Club Caged. For a second I actually thought Andrew was actually going to slap her, but he just got all huffy and defensive and grounded her like that meant she wasn't just going to run away at her earliest convenience. Both Martins had pretty vicious tempers.

After that conversation, I tried to slink away to the bedroom, claiming exhaustion, but a weary Andrew, still red in the face from shouting at Juliet to grow up, sighed. He turned to me, breathing deeply and just beginning to smile, and said, "Well, now that that's over with, we should call up Henry and Gemma and tell them the good news. Go out to celebrate and make a night out of it."

I froze but was unable to come up with a credible excuse to get out of it, which is how we wound up at that club with a sulky, obvious Henry and a genuinely excited Gemma. It was one of the most awkward moments of my life, especially when Andrew was looking at me, wondering why Henry was being so unsupportive and insincere and a buzzkill and entirely incapable of mustering up any feigned enthusiasm for us. I couldn't very well tell Andrew that Henry was convinced the baby was his and was probably pissed he had to find out from Andrew, but I couldn't help but notice that, oddly, even though both of these men supposedly loved my sister, their reactions were not what one would expect from a dad-to-be.

Okay, you know what, I can say it. Henry was being a whiny little bitch. I sort of understood why he was upset, but the man had a wife and twins already, and, what, did he expect Siobhan to just pop the kid out, leave Andrew, and ride off into the sunset with him? Regardless of how screwed up Andrew and Siobhan's marriage was, I was pretty convinced there were several _million_ reasons why that was never going to happen. There had to be some reason why my sister hadn't divorced Andrew or left him before, after all, or else she'd have done that, rather than killing herself.

I mean, hell, I _wasn't_ pregnant and was feeling antsy about the whole thing, especially knowing what had happened to the real baby, and _I_ could still muster up more fake enthusiasm than Henry freaking Butler. How, again, had neither Gemma nor Andrew found out about the affair? I mean, couldn't Siobhan at least have picked someone discreet? Nothing was discreet about Henry, from his obvious bad mood to his angry drinking. Andrew and I definitely exchanged more than one exasperated look at their fighting; I had a sneaking suspicion that Siobhan and Andrew didn't air their dirty laundry in public, fortunately for us all, because I had the unpleasant feeling that their arguments were rather explosive. Anyway, Henry's reaction was definitely making Gemma uncomfortable, hence her changing the subject and going off with Andrew to get drinks.

To be honest, I'd wanted to go with them (because Henry could only _passive_-aggressively make passes at me in front of our respective spouses) but had refrained because I didn't need the temptation, and, rather unfortunately, I needed to talk to Henry. I had to pretend like I cared about him, which was very hard since he was hounding me and generally annoying the crap out of me, like a client who expects sex for free every time just because you took pity on him one time when he paid you to put out. Also, I'd only had two previous conversations with him, if we're going to exclude my two past experiences of him stalking me from a distance when Andrew was around. He was so _needy_ and stalkery for a married man that it was just a little intense and overwhelming piled on top of everything else. My sister's husband was, hilariously, not even half so desperate to sleep with her/me.

Fortunately, Henry gave me an ultimatum that took about one second to answer, even though I had to pretend like I was all conflicted about it. It wasn't really a choice. The dumbass didn't realize he'd given me an easy out, a path to having a simple, more Henry-free life where I didn't have to carry on an unwanted affair and could avoid inadvertently hurting more people. I didn't care much about hurting Henry then because I figured he didn't have any right to have an affair with his wife's best friend in the first place, and what he was doing, the feelings he had for my sister, were selfish and hurting his children and Gemma.

I wondered if Siobhan would've given in as easily as he'd suspected, but I didn't think she'd be subjected to such easy psychological manipulation. I don't think she would've made a choice. Her heart might've said Henry, but her eyes and her brain and everything else would've said Andrew, regardless of whether or not she actually said it aloud. She'd probably have twisted things around, managing to pacify Henry and string him along for a while while maintaining the cool status quo with Andrew. I wasn't quite so adept, but it was a lot easier just having to deal with one potential baby daddy, the one I lived with, than two, much less one who was married to my supposed BFF.

Either way, when the two of us fell into bed that night, me exhausted and Andrew a bit buzzed and smiling, so much so that I wanted to lean over him and taste the remnants of red wine on his lips and mouth, sucking every drop of flavor I could from it (insane, I know, but I could _smell_ it on him, the scent of a good vintage, and living my sister's insane life was really making me want a drink, which was part of the reason why I'd temporarily gone along with the whole being-pregnant-thing, which was yet another reason why I thirsted for a drink), I had a new worry. As always, the thought of sweet, delicious alcohol was better than sex... but I was determined not to fall off the wagon.

I had one more reason to lay awake at night, asking myself difficult questions.

Questions like: What kind of person does this to her own sister? What kind of person thinks identity theft of opportunity is acceptable behavior? Do real people actually do this? What kind of person doesn't go straight to the phone and call the police and Andrew and tell them what happened? How sick do you have to be to borrow your sister's life? Am I a sociopath? An opportunist... a what? What would Siobhan think if she knew? How disappointed would she be in me?

And how was I gonna get out of this? What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? Was Bodaway going to find me?

What _was_ I going to do about this baby I was supposedly having? Could I actually do it, actually pretend to be pregnant with my dead sister's baby? How long could I actually pretend?

But, still, a little voice in my head urged me that it was okay to stay a while, that I was trying to make things better, trying to make amends for my sister, trying to give her loved ones the closure she'd given me. She'd had a lifetime, but she hadn't taken the time to say goodbye to her husband, her lover, her best friend, or anyone else. Just me. I was the one she'd given absolution... and why? Why, when I could never give it to her, no matter how much I apologized? And if I couldn't give it to her, I might as well give it to the people in her life, give them what little I could offer so that they had pleasant, fulfilled last memories of her.

Yes, I decided, I would stay just long enough to draw out some money to leave and get a legitimate plan going. I would give them, all of them, the closure they needed (I had no idea how I was going to do that with Henry, but I wasn't going to sleep with him), and then I would disappear like a ghost in the night, leaving their lives the way I had entered them... as a stranger with Siobhan's face.


End file.
